


Harry Potter and the Secrets Within

by WhoWroteThis



Series: The Silent Ally [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), And I mean bloody slow, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arboreal Snake, Borgin and Burkes (Harry Potter), Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Diagon Alley, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Good Malfoy Family (Harry Potter), Hagrid is oblivious, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Kneazles, Knockturn Alley, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Metamorphmagus, Metamorphmagus Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Not romance-centric right now, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Powerful Harry Potter, Protect Harry Potter, Protective Slytherins, Quidditch, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Pride, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry Potter, Snakes, The Dursleys are Assholes, There be dragons, Thestrals (Harry Potter), Wandless Magic, Worth the wait tho, Young Harry Potter, will tag as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 143,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22901587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoWroteThis/pseuds/WhoWroteThis
Summary: Harry Potter is a very special, but very abused little boy. When a giant drags him into a world unknown, he'll need all the help he can get. Lucky for him, he has a snake, a dragon, and a horde of protective allies on his side.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Original Character(s), Harry Potter & Slytherin Students, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter & Voldemort, Hogwarts Students & Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: The Silent Ally [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646416
Comments: 473
Kudos: 1583
Collections: 5 Star HP Works, Harry Potter, Stories That Deserve More





	1. Change on the Rise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tainted_Golden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tainted_Golden/gifts), [Lomonaaeren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/gifts), [InTheShadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/gifts).



> Hello! I hope you enjoy my telling of Harry Potter's adventures at Hogwarts with a certain snake at his side...
> 
> Bold is parseltongue  
> Italicized is emphasis

Forest had been right: _magic was wonderful_. It was now early March and the Dursleys had no idea a snake was living among them.

Harry still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

 **Because magic, Harry hatchling,** Forest answers, slithering through the bushes Harry was pruning one muggy afternoon.

 **I know that** , Harry sighs. **But what _part_ of magic? How does it work?**

**Your magic knows it wants me to stay hidden. So, I am. Simple.**

**But why can’t I control my magic in other ways?** He asks his friend, tossing plant detritus into the bin next to him.

**You have, before, several times.**

**But those weren’t helpful. Well, teleporting –**

**— Apparating —**

**_— Apparating_** Harry corrects, wiping sweat off his brow. **On to the school roof was helpful, but turning my teacher’s hair blue?**

 **It certainly helped bring her down a branch or two,** Forest sniffs haughtily, flicking his tongue out repeatedly in hopes of catching a tasty scent.

 **It wasn’t worth the punishment Uncle Vernon gave me when I got home _,_** Harry murmurs, frowning down at his clippers.

Forest stops his search some yards away from Harry and returns to his side, slithering up his arm to nudge Harry’s cheek with his snout. **I know that, Harry hatchling, and I am sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop him from hurting you.**

Harry looks away. They’ve been over this.

 **I still say you let me bite them and be done with it.** Forest says petulantly.

 ** _Forest_**.

**I have not failed a hunt yet, Harry hatchling, they may try and hurt me or you, but they will lose.**

As morbid as it is, Forest’s reassurance does soothe Harry’s nerves. **Thank you, Forest. But with my magic, why can’t I summon food or take a bath or unlock the cupboard?**

 **Food is difficult to summon and impossible to conjure,** Forest says, moving across Harry’s neck and shoulders. **But with practice, you will be able to wash your scales, escape the darkness, and do almost anything whenever you want.**

 **What’s the difference between summon and conjure?** Harry queries, pausing his trimming.

 **Summoning something brings it as it is from one place to another,** Forest explains patiently. **But conjuring means you create it purely out of magic. Food cannot be conjured or transformed, it is against magic’s laws. It’s better to make food like you do and put a preservation charm on it to keep it safe to eat for a long time. If I knew you could create food so easily, I would have had you make me lots and lots of tasty snacks during our days in the darkness.**

Harry snorts softly at his friend’s slightly forlorn hiss. **How do you know so much?**

**I have seen many trees sprout and wither in my time, Harry hatchling. My home was never silent and those who listen to the whispers of the forest learn the most. Now I need quiet, I want to find a nice tasty lizard or frog before we go back inside.**

Harry allows him to do so, withdrawing into his thoughts even as his hands mechanically go through practiced motions. He wishes it were as easy as making food appear out of nothing, that would solve a lot of his problems. But maybe he can practice summoning some. If he did it from the fridge or pantry, he’d have to be careful that none of the Dursleys noticed it missing. And would the food fly through the air? If it did, then the fridge door and his cupboard would have to be open, so that’s not very helpful. Maybe it apparates? Pops out of the fridge and into his cupboard a moment later? That would be nice, but again he’d have to be careful. He’ll ask Forest or test it on a night when he’s sure the Dursleys are fast asleep and won’t hear the creaking of his cupboard door opening.

Being able to wash himself more often than the once-a-week hosing down Aunt Petunia gives him in the background would be nice. Same with making his cupboard smell better, yet he doubts the reeking smell of pee, blood, dust, cleaning supplies, and sweat will ever be washed out of anything in there, let alone Harry’s memory.

It’s a nice thought though.

A couple hours later, the bushes, trees, grass, and flowers in the front and back garden on their way to recuperating from the winter months. Harry is grateful, his body’s been fluctuating between shivering and roasting as his skin becomes more and more damaged beneath the unbiased sun. 

**I’m done** , he hisses in the direction he thinks Forest is.

 **So am I** , he hears. Forest emerges from the tidy undergrowth, belly distended with an unfortunate prey.

 **What did you find?** Harry asks, helping Forest wrap around his chest.

Forest lets out a pleased hiss. **A gecko! It tried to run but my strike is too fast!**

Harry grins at his concealed friend. **You are an impressive hunter** , he praises. Receiving a proud hiss in return, Harry gathers everything, meandering to the backyard shed on stiff legs. Tools replaced and rubbish taken care of, Harry goes to the courtyard pavement, brushing off as much dirt as he can from his person, wiping his bare feet repeatedly on the coarse shoe mat.

When he’s sure it will be up to Aunt Petunia’s standards, he knocks on the greenhouse door. He’s made to wait nearly ten minutes, even though he can see her sitting at the table reading a catalogue, before she decides to get up and acknowledge him.

“What?” She sneers once the door is open.

“I finished,” Harry says, keeping his voice subservient and eyes downcast.

“Front and back? All the weeds in the flower beds?” She demands, glaring down her nose at him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“They better be perfect, Freak,” she growls, stepping aside to let him enter. When he passes, she wallops him upside the back of his head before going back to her seat at the table. “I don’t want your stupidity ruining Vernon’s day when he gets home.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry responds in the same pleasant tone as before, fixing his glasses from where they’d been knocked askew. He closes the door before standing off to the side just within her view, suddenly overwhelmed with how parched he is.

“What now?” She snaps, furious that he’s still there.

Harry attempts to moisten his chapped lips with a tongue sticky from dehydration. “Please, Aunt Petunia, may I have some water?”

“No,” she declines immediately. “I know you drank plenty from the hose, don’t you try and steal any more from us! No, you can finish the laundry and clean the toilets.”

“Yes, ma’am,” is his reply, blank face showing none of his anger or desperation, because _no_ , he certainly didn’t drink from the hose, he knows he’s not allowed to. Well, if he plans the timing just right, he can sneak some water from the tap, even if the water from them does taste yucky.

Better than nothing.

So Harry spends the rest of the afternoon folding his uncle and cousin’s gigantic and stain-ridden clothing (he never does Aunt Petunia’s she refuses to let him go anywhere near her lady clothes), smiling slightly at the disgusted comments coming from his friend. He scrubs the two loos clean; layers of skin on his hands and knees rubbing free in the process, but he does get enough sips of water to slake his stinging throat. He's sore at the end of it but Aunt Petunia shrieks for him to get his hide downstairs, so he books it despite his locked-up joints.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” He asks once he’s on the main floor standing in front of her in the hallway.

“Get in your cupboard, boy,” she orders, politely opening the door for him. “I want you out of our sight for the rest of the night.”

She barely misses Harry’s ankle when she slams the door closed after he scampers in, but Harry’s okay with it. Out of sight means out of fist range.

He sighs, resituating on his mat, pulling his shirt away so Forest can slither out.

 **Are you alright, Harry hatchling?** Forest asks, flickering out his tongue.

Harry smiles. **I am. Are you?**

Forest bobs his head. **I am. I do not like the smells in the those odd human washrooms though. I do not like them at all.**

 **Me neither** , Harry huffs in agreement. They sit for a little while, listening to Aunt Petunia moving around upstairs until Harry remembers his earlier thoughts. **Forest, how does summoning work? Is it like apparition or just floating the object from one place to another?**

 **Both** , Forest hisses, coiling the lower half of his body so he’s more eye-level with Harry. **There are spells that do both. Are you thinking about summoning prey for me to hunt in here?**

Harry breathes out a laugh. **And food for me**.

**Then all you would have to do is picture the lizard or hatchling food that you want; imagine where it is and how it looks, then picture it appearing right in your hands. You must focus and want it more than anything else.**

**Okay,** Harry says slowly, already considering which food items he might try to summon. **So, I have to know where it is? I can’t think really hard about a package of those Jaffa cakes that Dudley’s always eating and my magic summons it from Tesco or whatever stores Aunt Petunia shops at?**

 **Not yet you can’t,** Forest admits. **Maybe when your magic has had time to grow.**

Harry sags. It might be stealing, but it would be better trying to get food from anywhere other than the Dursleys’ supply. **Okay** , he hisses in a whisper. **I’ll try tonight when they’re all asleep. What about other spells?**

**Spells are helpful for focusing what you want your magic to do, but they are not required. Your intentions are what’s most important. I would bet my fangs that you can do any magic you want without a spell or a wand. You may be a hatchling, but you are mighty.**

**Like you?** Harry teases, but his throat does catch on the at Forest’s faith in him.

 **Exactly!** Forest hisses, weaving a bit in the air. **How about we try cleaning your scales?**

 **Are you saying I smell bad?** Harry jokes, casting a weary eye to the ceiling when he hears Aunt Petunia walking across the landing.

 **Yes** , Forest says bluntly, twisting to watch Aunt Petunia’s shadow move across the cupboard’s vent slot. When she passes into the kitchen, he turns back to Harry. **Since you can’t shed your scales like a proper hatchling, using magic to clean is the next best thing. Do you think you can focus enough?**

Harry nods, even as he hears the garage doors opening and Aunt Petunia opening the door to great Uncle Vernon. Harry is happy to hear that the Dursleys are going out for dinner. It means less work and time spent around his loving relatives. When Dudley comes home a little while later, they all leave, thankfully without disrupting Harry’s solitude.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when the garage doors close and the house falls silent.

 **Ready to try?** Forest asks patiently, swaying his tail.

**Yes. What should I do?**

**Think about the smelly toilets and the dirty clothes. You were able to make them smell like plants after you removed all the gross parts, yesss?** At Harry’s nod, he continues. **Now imagine doing that to your scales; getting rid of all the yucky stuff on top, leaving your beautiful scales beneath.**

So Harry tries, closing his eyes and imaging it as Forest described. He begins to feel a tingle in the back of his mind; something swirling that evades his reach until he coaxes it closer. Brow furrowing, he guides the swirling, indescribable mass forward, feeling it caress him from the roots of his hair to the tip of his toes. It leaves him warm and giddy, a giggle escaping him before he sighs as the swirling retreats to the back of his mind. His skin tingles in its wake.

 **Yessss, Harry hatchling! You could feel it! I could taste it; you felt it and covered your scales with it!** His tongue flickers out to taste Harry’s skin and he emits an exuberant hiss. **Your scales are clean! You don’t smell like the sssssmelly bathrooms anymore!**

Harry laughs breathlessly, still riding high from the sensation of his magic helping him. **I can’t believe it worked!**

 **Of course it did, silly hatchling** , Forest says, rolling his eyes as much as a snake can. **Now try to create a light so that you can see how well you did.**

Harry frowns, unsure if he can do that as well, but then he closes his eyes, imagining the exposed bulb that used to illuminate his cupboard before Uncle Vernon took it (a Freak wasn’t worth the electricity costs). He imagines the sun and its infinite light and the brightness that glows from within Forest’s eyes whenever he is happy with his latest meal or proud of Harry.

Steadily, Harry feels his palm and fingers warm up, a glow turning his eyelids pink. He opens his eyes, blinking at the brilliant white light flickering in the palm of his right hand. Forest releases an overjoyed hiss and coils closer to Harry’s hand, drawn to the emanating heat that is nothing like the scorching afternoon sun, but rather like the dozing fire in the sitting room that always makes Harry feels cozy when he’s nearby in the winter months.

 **You did very well, hatchling,** Forest praises. His tail comes around and nudges the light, revealing that it is a barely tangible ball floating just above Harry’s palm.

 **This is amazing** , Harry breathes. He raises his other hand, pressing feather-light pokes against the light, exhaling shakily at the warmth that seeps into his very bones.

 **Would you like to try and unlock the door?** Forest poses, hissing a laugh at Harry’s eager nod.

***

The days continue to pass with Harry practicing and experiment with his magic under Forest’s encouragement. Come mid-summer, he’s able to guide his magic to cleaning things, summoning objects (the Dursleys have yet to notice the missing slices and cans of food), warming or cooling things down, illuminating or removing the light from rooms, unlocking and locking any door, floating objects, pouring water (Harry was very pleased that it tasted much better than tap water), fixing anything broken, turning broken crayons into different tools (he made a hairbrush and tried to tame his hair to appease his aunt and uncle, but it stuck out even wilder than before), and – most importantly – healing injuries.

Both he and Forest were quite pleased with his progress. While he only spent a couple hours a day practicing while locked in his cupboard, Harry was able to relax slightly with the knowledge that no matter what his relatives did to him, Harry could do something to fix it. 

Of course, that all shriveled up the day Dudley turned 11.

It was a miserable start to the day as Dudley loudly complained about the number of presents currently covering half the kitchen and sitting room.

“THIRTY-SEVEN?! LAST YEAR, LAST YEAR I HAD THIRTY-EIGHT!”

Aunt Petunia is quick to comfort, not enjoying seeing her darling son so upset. “Now now, sweetums, don’t you worry about a thing, we are going to be buying you two more presents at the zoo today. How’s that, darling?”

“So that would be thirty--- thirty---”

“Thirty-nine, sweetheart.”

“I want forty!” Dudley cries, fake tears already welling up at the injustice of it all.

Uncle Vernon chuckles from his seat. “You heard the little tyke, Pet, our big Dudders gets to choose three more presents, doesn’t he?”

“That’s right,” Aunt Petunia agrees, smoothing Dudley’s straw hair across his forehead. “How about you open some of your presents now before breakfast, darling?”

“Fine,” Dudley says, eyes eagerly choosing one of the bigger wrapped boxes and tearing in to it.

Harry is finishing sautéing the diced potatoes when the flap in the front door rattles.

“Get the mail, boy,” Vernon orders, glaring at Harry over the newspaper propped in front of him.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry responds, eyeing the potatoes with trepidation. Knowing they’re close to being done, he turns down the heat, wiping his hands on the tea towel tossed over his shoulder- his uncle hates seeing any smidgen of evidence that Harry’s touched something.

Harry flits through the half-open kitchen door, not needing to open it all the way to squeeze through. He spots the pile of mail on the welcome mat and picks it up, mindlessly shuffling them together so they’re mostly straight and even for his uncle to look at.

He’s nearly past his cupboard when one of the envelopes catches his eye. It’s much thicker and heavier than the others and is a weathered yellow compared to the whites of the other letters and junk mail. Curious, he lifts it up, only for his mind to come to a grinding halt.

It’s a letter.

_For him._

Forest senses something’s wrong and shifts around Harry’s chest. **What is it?**

 **I’ve got a letter,** Harry says dumbly. He flips it over and sees a fancy wax seal keeping the – is it even paper? – envelope closed. **Who would be writing to me?**

Forest’s head pops up out of Harry’s shirt collar, his tongue flickering away as he hisses excitedly. **I taste magic, Harry hatchling!**

 **You sure it’s not my magic you’re tasting?** Harry says doubtfully.

Forest harmlessly whacks Harry’s ribs with his tail. **_Of course I’m sure!_ **He hisses, cross at Harry’s lack of faith. **Whoever wrote that letter has magic!**

Harry blinks, turning it back over to re-read the address.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

**They know I live in the cupboard** , he thinks out loud. **They must be magical to know that. No one else would know.**

 **Don’t open it,** Forest warns, sliding back down to hide under Harry’s shirt. **Put it in your cupboard to read later.**

 **Good idea** , Harry says, stashing the envelope under the cupboard door just as Uncle Vernon shouts for him.

“Hurry up, boy!” When Harry returns to the kitchen, he hands his purple-faced uncle their post, going back to the cooker to finish the potatoes. “Stupid freak. Can’t even follow the simplest instructions, can you?” Uncle Vernon spits while sifting through the letters. “Oh dear, Petunia, it looks like Marge has fallen ill…”

Harry ignores the insults and his aunt’s simpering words, doing his best to make the perfect meal. He doesn’t want to give his relatives a reason to trample him.

Not that they need one.

Dudley so helpfully reinforces this reality when Harry is bringing the heaping plates of food over to the table. Problem is, the table’s more presents than table and Harry’s arms are starting to tremble under the strain.

“What are you waiting for, boy? Put the plates down!”

At Vernon’s furious words, Harry hastens to obey, deciding to nudge one of the stacks of boxes out of the way with his elbow. Apparently, Dudley does not approve.

“HEY!” Dudley yells, and next thing Harry knows, he’s flying back, his only thought being sheer panic at Forest possibly getting hurt. Then his world erupts in pain and chaos as he slams into the corner of the cabinets and smacks down on to the unforgiving floor, food and plates flying everywhere. “DON’T TOUCH MY PRESENTS, FREAK!”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are already in a screaming tizzy, but Harry can’t make out anything they’re saying over the throbbing pounding in his head and screaming pain in his back.

The room spins when he tries to sit up, so Harry remains where he is. One arm wraps around his chest to frantically assess if Forest is okay while his other hand tries to staunch the blood crawling down his forehead. He hears quiet angry hissing and feels Forest shifting his coils but doesn’t get to think a reply when a disgusted shriek distracts him.

“Disgusting brat!” Aunt Petunia yells, looking utterly repulsed at the messy scene before her. “You’ve ruined everything!”

Harry only has time to blink blindly at her before a meaty hand grabs his neck, dragging him through the kitchen and into the hallway. He hears the sound of his cupboard door creaking open and he’s tossed inside, banging his shoulder against the wall.

“You vermin!” his Uncle bellows, spit flying into Harry’s face. “Trying to infect our son with your freakishness?! I won’t have it, boy, WON’T HAVE IT! When we get back, you’re going to be cleaning this house top to bottom then you’ll be in your cupboard for the _REST_ of the _SUMMER_!”

Then the door is slammed shut and Harry’s left to his confused misery in the darkness, listening to his relatives frantically make sure each other are okay and if any of Harry’s blood got on them or Dudley’s presents. With many platitudes about extra presents and taking Dudley out to breakfast with Piers Polkiss before they go to the zoo; they abscond to the garage, zooming away from the source of all their problems: the Freak in the Cupboard.

Harry slumps back, body protesting heavily as he reaches up to bring Forest out.

 **Are you okay?** He hisses, terrified that his friend is injured.

Forest moves in his lap, tensing and untensing his long body in slow movements. **I believe so** , he finally concurs, and Harry sighs in heavy relief.

 **I thought I fell on you** , he says, running a shaky hand down Forest’s smooth and thankfully undamaged scales.

 **You did** , Forest admits, turning his head to nuzzle Harry’s hand. **But I am unharmed. You protected me.**

Harry sniffles a little. Forest uncoils, slithering up Harry’s arm to wind around it and squeeze comfortingly. **You are a good hatchling. The best.**

A wet laugh escapes Harry and he feels a warm drop land on his leg.

 **You need to stop the bleeding** , Forest says, flicking his tongue out. **Can you?**

 **I think so** , Harry nods but stops immediately because he feels like he’s going to throw up even though there’s nothing in his stomach. He concentrates, Forest’s encouraging hisses helping him guide his magic to the stinging wounds and knit them closed, soothing away any bruised flesh.

When he’s done, he exhales heavily, relishing in the freedom of doing so without feeling pain in his ribs and spine. **Well done!** Forest praises. Harry continues to apply a cleaning charm on himself to remove the blood and bits of food. He’s debating if he should eat a bit of blood flavored egg when Forest suddenly reminds him of something very important. **Your letter, Harry hatchling!**

Harry startles, realizing he had already forgotten the mysterious post. Creating a light in his palm, he finds the letter partially hidden under his mat. Adjusting his bent glasses, Harry studies the red wax seal, holding it out for Forest to see better. **Do you know what this seal means?**

 **Maybe** , Forest hisses. **Open it.**

Harry does so and sees:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

 _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

A school. _For magic_.

He goes on to read about an ‘Albus Dumbledore’ and sending an owl, but his brain is quickly becoming inundated save for one thought: there are others like Harry, which means he must not be a Freak.

This changes everything.


	2. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry responds to his Hogwarts letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you'll probably notice, there are some direct quotes from the original book, rights obviously go to J.K. for those.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry’s eyes are scanning the page and the words are repeating in his mind, but he is having a hard time allowing it to feel _real_.

 **Forest?** He breathes, aware that his friend is reading the letter alongside him, because, apparently; snakes can read human languages. **Is this…?  
**

 **The letter does not lie, Harry hatchling** , Forest hisses. Body convulsing in increasingly excited movements. **This is what you have been waiting for! This is your chance to have a tree of your own!**

 **But, but _how_? How do these people know? Who applied for me? The Dursleys definitely didn’t! **Harry exclaims, not realizing that his breathing is becoming rattled. **They don’t like me going to school _now_ , let alone to a special one!**

Forest does notice his friend’s conundrum though and slithers his way up to wrap Harry in a coiled embrace, nudging the boy’s chin with his snout. **Be calm, hatchling. Either they have a way of sensing when someone has magic, like I can, or someone else enrolled you.**

**_But who?!_ **

**Your parents perhaps?**

Harry grimaces, face turning away from his friend in shame. **If my mum was anything like Aunt Petunia, then she hated magic. My parents were terrible people, they wouldn’t do something like this for me.**

Forest’s tongue pokes out, tasting the air only to shift closer around Harry. **Is that what the giraffe and walrus told you? That they were bad?**

Harry huffs at Forest’s name for his aunt and uncle. He wipes his suspiciously runny nose with the back of his hand. **Yeah. Aunt Petunia said her sister was a freak like me and both my parents were jobless drunks.**

**You believe that?**

**Why shouldn’t I?** Harry scoffs, resentful. **I’m here aren’t I? They’re dead because he drove our car into a tree when he was drunk one night. That’s how I got the scar on my forehead. They didn’t love me, otherwise they wouldn’t have done something so stupid.**

Forest uses his tail to wipe away a tear trailing a path down Harry’s flushed cheek. **The giraffe said your mother was a freak?** At Harry’s miserable nod, he stretches forward, trying to catch Harry’s eye. **Maybe it’s because of magic?**

Harry turns to frown at Forest. **You think my mum had magic? That she was a… witch?**

 **It would explain how you are a wizard** , Forest says, bobbing his head. **And how someone enrolled you. Either she did when you were young and showed signs of magic, or another wizard or witch knew and signed you up.**

**So maybe Aunt Petunia hated my mum because she did have magic, but she doesn’t?**

**That would make sense.** Forest contemplates. **There is a reason she and the walrus never want the word spoken**. **Jealousy makes even the shiniest of scales ugly.**

Harry sniffles, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. **But… ugh! I’m so confused! Why wouldn’t they tell me any of this! Why am I here with the Dursleys if someone else knows about me and is like me?**

Forest gives him a soothing hiss. **Respond to the letter, Harry hatchling.**

Harry exhales harshly but does as suggested and holds up his light to the shelves around him in search of a piece of scrap paper and a pencil. **Do you think they’d send someone to answer questions if I asked?**

 **It is worth requesting** , Forest replies, bending to watch Harry write.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I accept the invitation to attend Hogwarts.

Would it be possible for somebody to answer my questions in person and possibly show me where to buy the required school supplies?

Thank you,

Harry Potter

**How’s that?** Harry asks when he’s done scratching out the words in his messy crawl.

 **Very polite** , Forest approves before his words turn sour. **Now, find an owl**.

At the change in his friend's tone, Harry pauses. **Do you not like owls?**

 **No!** Forest spits, tail thudding against the mat in agitation. **They are evil creatures that trespass in my branches and try to steal my prey!**

Harry nods understandably. **If I find one, I’ll make sure it stays far away from your territory.**

Forest bobs his head approvingly, hissing about nosy birds and stupid necks. Harry meanwhile presses his ear to the cupboard door, straining to make sure he hasn’t missed any sounds of someone re-entering the house.

 **Do you think I could find an owl now?** He asks when he hears nothing besides the humming refrigerator. **I know they’re nocturnal and sleep during the day…**

**A magical one may be nearby waiting for your response if it brought the letter here in the first place. Now is a good time to look while we are alone.**

Harry purses his lips, weighing the risk of leaving his cupboard and going outside where the neighbors might see him and report it to his aunt and uncle, or worse, the Dursleys come home from the zoo early.

 **Okay** , he decides. **I’ll take a quick look around**.

 **I will come with** , Forest declares, slithering up Harry’s shirt to wrap around his chest. **But if it looks at me funny, I _will_ bite it.**

Harry snorts, sitting up and wiping away the last remnants of his earlier misery. He holds out his hand, unlocking the cupboard. With cautious steps, they make it to the backyard; peering around for owls and neighbors alike.

 **Do you smell anything?** Harry asks, scanning the trees for any sign of feathers.

Forest pops his head out into the open, his tongue poking out and flickering repeatedly before he swivels his head towards one of the trees. **Yesss, I smell tasssssty eggsss in that tree!**

Harry squints at the tree Forest’s straining towards. **Owl eggs?** He asks, confused.

Forest hisses, still tasting the air. **No, ssssmaller bird eggs.**

Harry shakes his head fondly. Forest thinks about food even more than he does. **Can we focus on finding an owl first before getting you a snack?**

 **If we mussst** , Forest sighs. He turns away from the tree, shifting around Harry’s shoulders. **There may be something… go to the front yard.**

Harry hesitates just a moment before obeying, keeping a careful eye out for any cars coming down the road or curtains pulled back in the neighbors’ windows. He crouches underneath the sitting room window, hidden from the street by the flourishing bushes planted there. **Anything?**

Before Forest can answer, a loud hoot startles Harry so bad he jumps, jutting the crown of his head into the windowsill. He hisses in pain while Forest hisses outraged threats, wrapping tighter and swaying his body before Harry, baring his fangs at the owl swooping down to perch on the lamp post by the front walk.

 **Ow** , Harry complains, gently prodding the area. **How many times am I going to hit my head today?**

Forest hisses even louder and angrier at the bird. **_You’re lucky you’re useful, you feathery buffoon, I should bite you for hurting my hatchling!_**

The owl, for its part, only trills at the snake, fluttering its wings and leaning forward to swirl its head in retort.

 **It’s okay, Forest, it didn’t mean to scare me** , Harry reassures, trying to calm the situation before the animals try to eat each other. Satisfied that his head won’t be needing magic to heal once more, he stands. Avoiding the windowsill, Harry approaches the owl with trepidation. Ensuring that no one is looking and feeling a bit silly, he questions the owl. “Are you able to take my letter to Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts?”

The owl hoots and holds out one of its legs where Harry finally spots a leather pouch tied just above the foot.

“I guess that means yes,” Harry says and despite Forest’s distrusting hiss, he rolls up his scrap of paper and tucks it inside the pouch, sealing it closed.

As soon as he does, the owl takes off, hooting its farewell as it soars over the neighborhood and out of sight beyond the houses on Wisteria Walk. Hoping one of batty Mrs. Figg’s cats isn’t out and in the mood for owl, Harry makes a hasty retreat to the backyard, pausing to let a pleased Forest traverse the tree where he spied the unguarded bird’s nest.

 **Be quick** , Harry urges, craning to hear any tires coasting down the asphalt and ignoring Forest’s offended reminder that his name could have been **_snakewhostrikesquick_**. A couple minutes later, Forest slithers back down the bark and on to Harry’s outstretched arm, lamenting that the bird eggs were so small. Harry feels a bit guilty at helping the unborn baby birds become snake food, but he tries to remember that Forest needs to eat somehow and if it wasn’t the eggs now, it may have been the birds later when they hatched.

Back inside the house, Harry ensures there’s no clues pointing at him leaving his cupboard before considering whether he should try and sneak some food now. Deciding to play it safe, he pilfers a couple of stale crackers out from a package in the back of the pantry.

Under the stairs, Harry sits down and locks the cupboard door, letting a lumpy Forest move around to get comfortable. He stores the crackers out of sight where he can have them on a day he can’t concentrate or is too tired to use magic. Stretching his legs out, he takes a moment to realize what he’s just done.

 **What if I don’t get a response or no one comes before September?** He asks after minutes sitting in the dark.

 **You will** , Forest says simply. **Someone will come.**

**But _what if_?**

**Then we’ll think of something else.**

**Okay… Forest?**

**Yessss?**

**I’m really glad you’re my friend.**

**As am I, Harry hatchling.**

*******

Weeks after Dudley’s birthday, Harry is considering running away. Screw Hogwarts and screw his relatives. When they had returned from the zoo, the Dursleys had immediately enacted Harry’s punishment of hours of chores made all the more agonizing by the belt marks on his back and bruises covering his thin frame, courtesy of Dudley being allowed a free-for-all at Harry as recompense for destroying his birthday breakfast.

Harry endured it all without a sound of complaint or pain, knowing that anything seen as disrespect would make the punishments a thousand times worse. After two days of making the house spotless inside and out, Harry was locked away, ignored and forgotten. While Harry was able to survive off of his summoned food and magically pouring water into a cup he’d taken from the kitchen months ago, he was still miserable. Forest, when he wasn’t sneaking out of the cupboard to find his own food where he could, tried to keep his morale up with stories and magic exercises. His efforts, though kind, made little difference; Harry was starting to feel the oppressing darkness encroaching on his very soul.

He had hoped _so hard_ that Hogwarts was real, that someone who didn’t see him as a freak would come and save him. But as the minutes and hours and days dragged on, Harry became bitter. He’d absorbed everything his relatives sent his way for years, letting it wash off him because otherwise he would have drowned. And yet, none of it had felt as cruel as that stupid letter.

Nothing had changed.

So lost was Harry in his misery that he lost track of the days, not realizing that it was currently the 31st of July; he was now eleven years old. He was reminded of it when Uncle Vernon let him out of the cupboard, handing him a “special birthday boy’s” list of chores that was to be done before he got home from work. Nodding obediently, Harry looked at the list and immediately knew it was unlikely he’d finish the tasks before he turned _twelve_ , let alone the end of the day.

Nevertheless, smelling stale and body stiff from his cramped quarters, Harry spent his birthday morning removing every speck of filth and imperfection from the house’s top floor, already feeling the pains of Uncle Vernon’s unforgiving treatment he would undoubtedly receive after dinner.

Around 11 o’clock, Harry’s presence is demanded in the kitchen.

“Prepare salad and sandwiches for lunch, boy,” Aunt Petunia orders, narrowing her eyes at him from her seat at the table, fashion magazine in hand. “And you better make enough, my growing Dudley-kins needs his food.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry doesn’t bother asking what they want in the sandwiches or salad, he knows all their preferences by now. He sets about preparing a chicken salad sandwich for his aunt, tossing a summer salad together in between flipping Dudley’s marmite and cheese sandwiches on the hob.

He is setting the table when the doorbell rings. Aunt Petunia’s nostrils flare, extremely cross that someone is there uninvited. She slaps her magazine down and stands.

“Fetch drinks,” she barks, much like the dog she treats him as.

Harry watches her disappear into the living room, calling Dudley down for lunch. As soon as she’s out of sight, Harry runs back to the counter, snatching up a slice of bread from the bag and stuffing it in his mouth as fast as possible. He doesn’t bother to chew. Swallowing and gasping lightly, Harry feels his cramping stomach grumble at the paltry offering before it ceases its painful twisting.

Hearing his aunt unlock the door and say a fake-cheery greeting, Harry retrieves one of Dudley’s sodas from the fridge and a can of fruity bubbly water for Aunt Petunia only to damn near jump out of his skin when a shriek tears through the house.

 **I smell magic, Harry hatchling!** Forest suddenly hisses, scales sliding around Harry’s ribs as the snake moves to taste the air better.

Harry blinks for a moment before setting the cans down and launching himself towards the cracked-open kitchen door to see the developing commotion. Distantly, he hears Dudley thundering out of his room and towards the stairs, calling for his mum in concern.

Aunt Petunia doesn’t respond though, far too occupied as she is with shrieking at the _giant_ standing on their front porch.

Harry’s jaw drops to his knees and Forest hisses in excitement.

“Hey now, woah! Didn’ mean ter scare yeh, sorry – Hey! Stop screamin’, would ya?” The enormous man’s equally enormous voice booms in panic; his posture stooped and hunched to appear less intimidating. Although, Harry realizes, it would have to be that way anyways, because the man is far taller and broader than the door frame. “Are yeh Petunia Dursley?”

“Go away!" she continues to scream, voice going higher than even her tall neck. “Get away this instant! How dare your kind show up here! You beast of a man, I demand—!”

That’s as far as she gets before she’s stumbling backwards, efforts to slam the door fruitless against the sink-sized hand pushing the door fully open. From their spots by the kitchen door and the staircase landing, Harry and Dudley watch as the giant squeezes his body into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a quiet snap.

His barrel-sized chest expands and contracts in a sigh that ruffles the tangled mess of dark beard and hair cascading over his shoulders and down his chest. Beetle-black, crinkled eyes return to Aunt Petunia’s terrified, livid ones.

“Right then. Sorry abou’ all tha’,” he huffs, clapping hard enough to create a gust that blasts Aunt Petunia's painstakingly-styled hair back. “Better if we talk inside, don’t want any of the neighbors teh get worried, now do we? Now, as I was saying, I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, though, mind yeh, I go by Hagrid.”

Hearing this, Harry’s heart stops before going rapid fire when a brilliant smile twitches the man’s beard.

“I’m here for Harry Potter.”

***

Both Aunt Petunia and Dudley turn interesting colors at Hagrid’s declaration, and Dudley’s bewildered meep draws the man’s attention to him.

“Ah! Harry! Look how big yeh’ve gotten!” Hagrid laughs, arms sweeping out wide, nearly taking out the stair banister as he looks Dudley up and down. Even when trying to make himself seem as small as possible and shrink into the corner, Dudley still stands out like a pampered pig. Hagrid notices and raises his bushy brows in fond surprise. “Tho, you’re a bit bigger in some places than I expected, but that’s alright, I’m not one to judge, now am I!”

Aunt Petunia squeaks and Dudley quivers before the joyful giant, finally getting up the nerve to say a trembling, “I- I’m not Harry!”

Realizing this is his chance, Harry pushes the door open, revealing himself. “I am, sir.”

Both Hagrid and Aunt Petunia whirl around to face him, the former’s face one of happy realization, the latter’s red with fury.

“ _Go outside, pest!_ ” Aunt Petunia hisses, doing a remarkable impression of Forest when he talks about owls.

If it was any other time, Harry would have scurried away so fast he’d have left a dust cloud, but he refuses to go anywhere in this moment, and Hagrid’s words only solidify his decision.

“Harry, you little tyke, o’ course that’s yeh!” the man jubilates, excited arm flailing once more and succeeding in knocking a photo of Dudley being kissed by Aunt Marge and her bulldog, Ripper, off the wall. Hagrid doesn’t notice, instead moving forward around a cringing Aunt Petunia to beam at Harry. “A mirror image of yer Mum an’ Dad, yeh are!”

Harry caught a glimpse of himself while cleaning the bathrooms earlier: he looks horrid. So, upon hearing the strange man’s words, something complicated twists Harry’s gut. “You knew my parents?” He asks, looking up at the man through his messy fringe.

“Well of course I did!” Hagrid chuffs, as though it’s obvious. “Knew them when they went to Hogwarts, didn’t I? Great people they were, great people. I can tell yer just like ‘em!”

Harry blinks, disbelieving. They were great drunks that looked unkempt and malnourished? But Hagrid said they attended Hogwarts… “They had magic?” he whispers to confirm, an emotional vice gripping his throat.

“Course they did, Lily and James were bursting with magic, weren’t they?! So were you when you were a little tyke! Oh, tha’ reminds me…”

Hagrid frowns, searching his clothes for something and Harry finally notices that the man’s ankle-long coat has more pockets than coat. Letting out happy grunt when he finds what he’s looking for, Hagrid steps forward, ignoring Aunt Petunia’s glare, and hands Harry a square box with a ribbon keeping it closed.

“Mighta sat on it at some point, sorry ‘bout tha’,” Hagrid admits guiltily, but Harry doesn’t care because inside the box is a birthday cake with the words ‘Hapy Birthday, Hary’, written in smeared blue icing on the chocolate frosting. “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Hagrid is beaming, Forest is wiggling around his chest, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley are gaping at the giant’s back.

All Harry wants to do is cry.

In all his dreams and silent wishes, he had never once imagined someone would care enough to do something so simple as make him a cake on his birthday. Which means this is really happening.

Hogwarts was real, his parents might not have been terrible people after all, and Hagrid was here to take him shopping for the school that would take him far, far away from the Dursleys.

With trembling hands, Harry retreats to set the box on the table, turning around to see Hagrid stooping his way into the kitchen. Behind Harry, Aunt Petunia and Dudley come through the sitting room, clinging to each other.

Hagrid looks around the kitchen and spots the sandwiches meant for Dudley on the counter. “Ah! Mind if I have a bite? Bit hungry, been traveling on me bike from Scotland, had to fly from Hogwarts, a bit too big for the floo I’m afraid…”

While rambling, Hagrid devours the first sandwich in two bites, already attacking another before he swallows the first and Harry can only watch in bewildered fascination. Hogwarts is in Scotland? And what’s floo?

“Mmmm,” Hagrid chirps through a full mouth. “These are good, atleast you muggles know how ter cook. An’ without magic too!”

He lifts a half-bitten sandwich in salute to Aunt Petunia, assuming she made the sandwiches. Her face turns as sour as Harry feels at Hagrid’s wrongful deduction. Instead of correcting the man, she steps in front of Dudley and sneers at Hagrid.

“Mr. Hag, I –-.”

“-- Hag _rid--_ ”

“— demand that you cease your absurd behavior and leave at once! I won’t have you filling the brat’s head with lies!”

“Lies?” Hagrid asks in bafflement, a bit of cheese spilling from the sandwich in his hand and splattering on the floor, making Harry and Aunt Petunia both twitch. “Well I’m not lying to ‘im, am I? I’m ‘ere on official business to take Harry to Diagon Alley, making sure he’s all ready to attend Hogwarts in September. Course, yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.” He winks at Harry.

Aunt Petunia answers before Harry can confirm. “No! He knows nothing, and it’s going to stay that way!”

Hagrid frowns, setting his latest sandwich victim down. “What yeh mean he doesn’t know? Professor McGonagall got his acceptance letter weeks ago.”

At the admission, Harry tenses, bracing himself against the ire that explodes a heartbeat later.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” his aunt shrieks, looking seconds away from throttling Harry.

“I responded to a letter addressed to me,” Harry responds, trying to keep calm.

His aunt turns an unflattering shade of red. “No! You couldn’t have, we burned it!”

Harry’s face scrunches. “What? But I still have it.” Realization creeps up on Harry, faintly remembering smelling smoke a week ago while his mind was drifting in the confines of his cupboard. “What letter did you burn?”

“Don’t you question me, boy!” she shrieks. “We have every right to destroy whatever mail that crackpot school sent you! Just wait until Vernon gets home and hears you wrote to someone; you are going to regret this for a _very_ long time!”

“Yeh mean Harry didn’ know I was comin’ today?” Hagrid frowns, stepping forward to loom over them. When Aunt Petunia doesn’t back down and instead glares at him, the man becomes irritated. “Now look here, this boy’s name has been down since his birth, and no ruddy Muggle is going to keep him away from his legacy or learnin’ under the greatest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen!”

“Your blasted headmaster is the one who dumped him on our doorstep and made the brat our responsibility in the first place! We have worked too hard to beat the freakishness out of him for your kind to swoop in now and turn him into one of you! I absolutely refuse! You will leave my house, or I shall be calling the authorities!”

Hagrid rises to as much of his impressive height as the ceiling will allow. “I’d like to see yeh try, Dursley,” he growls.

Harry’s mind meanwhile fluctuates in a fragile state between threatening to combust or melt at any second. He’s not even sure if he’s standing anymore, his head is floating and swirling too much with all that he’s hearing. His aunt really has known the whole time about magic and Hogwarts. The school had sent a reply that Harry hadn’t known about. Aunt Petunia has flat-out admitted to treating Harry horribly, yet Hagrid doesn’t seem to care. And, worst of all, _Albus Dumbledore_ , his soon to be headmaster, is the one who sentenced him to this prison.

Harry trembles.

Aunt Petunia swells like a bullfrog, ready to blast Hagrid with more insults and refusals, but Hagrid’s beetle eyes are trailing over to where Dudley stands. Realizing his cousin had been awfully quiet, Harry turns too and immediately wants to rage at the sight of his mutilated cake in Dudley’s fat fists, frosting smeared across guilty cheeks and lips.

Hagrid seems as furious as Harry is, for in the next moment, a pink umbrella is summoned from somewhere in the depths of his coat and a violet light flies towards Dudley. The boy squeals suddenly, dropping the cake on the floor and clamping his soiled hands on his fat buttocks.

He continues to howl, jumping in a circle, giving the room a perfect view of the curly, pink tail erupting out of the base of his spine and jutting out of the new hole in his trousers. Aunt Petunia starts screaming, blabbering and crying as well before she yanks Dudley out of the room, scampering upstairs.

A door slams and Harry blinks.

Hagrid just did magic.

A small smile grows on his face and he turns to Hagrid in time to see the umbrella disappear back into the coat. Hagrid tugs the fabric closer around himself, clearing his throat and tilting forward on his toes. “I’d uh, hmm, be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone, Harry. I‘m not really supposed ter use magic.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, frowning. Was he not supposed to use magic either? Was he going to get in trouble before he even got there? But no, they can’t have known, otherwise Hagrid would have said something by now…

Hagrid clears his throat again, looking anywhere but at Harry. “It’s uh, not really important, I’ll tell yeh another time. Now how’s about yeh get yer belongin’s for the day and we’ll head out? We’ll be back tonight; I’m sure yer cousin will be fine by then.”

The smile immediately disappears from Harry’s face. They’re coming back? Tonight? No, no, _he can’t_. He can’t ever come back here. There is no doubt in Harry’s mind that if he returns to Number 4 Privet Drive after what just occurred, his uncle will kill him with Aunt Petunia and Dudley helping him bury whatever pieces remain.

Forest senses the panic rising in Harry and quells it before Hagrid can notice. **It will be fine, Harry hatchling. We won’t come back; we’ll go somewhere else until school starts.**

Harry exhales and heads for the hallway, grateful that Hagrid hadn’t heard or noticed Forest as he was busy looking for something in his pockets once more. Holding his Hogwarts letter and list, Harry stands at his cupboard door, looking in at the dank space that has been his sanctuary and prison for ten years.

The mat and blanket are soiled beyond the point of being vile, the walls coated with grime and dust, the scratches on the inside of the door permanent but the words ‘Harry’s Room’ written in crayon on the wall are faded. There’s a pile of miscellaneous tattered clothing tucked away in the corner, though Harry has no desire to bring Dudley’s scraps along with him. He has nothing that he wants to bring with him. He owns nothing. He only has himself, and Forest.

**Say goodbye, Harry hatchling. If I can help it, you’ll never be in the darkness ever again.**

Harry feels heat prickling in his eyes and with a quiet sniffle, he closes the door.

He has everything he needs.

Returning to the kitchen, he sees Hagrid writing down a note on the same kind of yellow paper that Harry's letter was written in. “Got everythin’?” he asks when he spots Harry.

Harry holds up his letter. “Yes.”

“Good, good,” Hagrid nods, stowing what looks like a feather back inside his coat. “Was jus’ writin’ a letter ter Professor Dumbledore ter let him know I got yeh. Let’s head out, yeah?”

Feeling a little miffed that Dumbledore is receiving updates, Harry nods in return and follows Hagrid out the front. He closes the door without second thought to his aunt and cousin still hiding upstairs. He follows the giant, eyes widening at the huge motorbike with attached side car parked at the end of the walk. An owl sits on the handlebars and Forest hisses menacingly from under Harry’s shirt, but an ignorant Hagrid cheerfully hands the bird a treat from his pocket and slips his note into the owl’s leg pouch.

“Right, off with yeh then,” he shoos the bird with a gentle smile. The owl hoots and disappears in the same direction Harry’s owl did. “Alright, Harry, yeh ready?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He strides forward to accept the helmet Hagrid gives him. It slips down and bonks against his glasses, but Harry doesn’t care because he and Forest are nestled in the side car and Hagrid’s massive frame is settled above the rumbling engine, and, after sharing a quick smile; they’re coasting down Privet Drive.

Harry doesn’t look back once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How we feeling?


	3. Welcome to the Wizarding World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hagrid make it to Diagon Alley; what will Harry discover?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The World: locking down and falling into chaos over COVID  
> Me: cozied up with my laptop, gleefully writing away with all my newfound free time.
> 
> UPDATE: I made a small edit on the 16th of March near the end of the chapter with Harry asking Griphook about his redirected mail. Chapter is the same otherwise. Chapter 4 coming soon!

Harry raises a dubious brow.

The door to the Leaky Cauldron – that the ‘ _muggles’_ Hagrid keeps mentioning apparently can’t see – is extremely underwhelming. If this is what the rest of the magical world looks like, Harry thinks he’d be better off absconding to the wilderness with Forest.

Hagrid apparently has no such qualms with the dismal state of the Leaky Cauldron’s exterior, and brushes right on inside. They’re hit with the smell of old stains, damp wood, and greasy food; the dull lull of chatter a welcoming embrace to those looking for a pick me-up.

“Mornin’, Tom!” Hagrid crows with familiarity.

The balding man behind the bar looks up from where he’s wiping down the surface and gives Hagrid a yellowed smile. “Hagrid! The usual I presume?”

“Not today, Tom,” Hagrid declines, chest puffing up with pride at his next declaration. “I’m here on official Hogwarts business.”

“Oh?” Tom asks, brow raised.

Hagrid’s beard jerks with excitement. He leans in conspiratorially, raising a hand as though to whisper, but his booming voice is heard clear across the room. “I’m takin’ young Mister Potter here shopping for his school supplies.”

Harry and Forest stiffen from their careful perusal of their surroundings, feeling it immediately when the relaxed mood of the room is swallowed and silenced by disbelief.

The whispers break out at the same moment all eyes turn to look at the boy hiding behind Hagrid.

“Did he just say---”

“ _Harry Potter?_ ”

“Bless my soul!”

“—his scar!”

“He looks just like—!”

“It’s Harry Potter!”

“It’s him!”

“—kind of small –“

“I can’t believe it!”

“—our savior!”

The voices meld into a cacophony that bears down on Harry. Bodies hound him for attention; hands reach towards him – trying to _touch_ him – and under the collage of faces, Harry feels like he’s drowning.

He doesn’t know where Hagrid is and he doesn’t hear the giant saying anything to call off the beasts, but it doesn’t matter, because Harry’s breaking out into grayed sunlight in a small courtyard and he can finally breathe without inhaling the putrid smell of so many overeager people in a pub.

**Calm, Harry hatchling, I am sorry, _stupid wizards,_ you are safe now, you’re alone, _hurting my hatchling,_ you’re okay, just breathe, you’re safe…**

Forest’s fluctuating words and comforting coils are the antidote to Harry’s panic. He steadily catches his breath, bringing his spinning vision back into focus.

 **That…** he croaks. **That was _awful_.**

His friend winds around his chest, settling his head over Harry’s pounding heart. He is about to speak when he distantly hears someone calling for him.

“Harry! Harry, where’d yeh go?” Hagrid’s voice gets closer and Harry realizes the clamor in the pub has settled somewhat. A shadow fills the corridor to the courtyard and Harry braces himself. “Harry, yeh out here?”

When Hagrid emerges, his worried expression melts into relief; his massive hands flopping against his thighs. “Harry! Where’d yeh go, why’d yeh run off? Didn’t yeh want to say hi to everyone?”

Harry shakes his head, trying not to quell under Hagrid’s disappointment. “I don’t know those people, Hagrid.”

Hagrid looks confused. “Well that’s alright, innit, ‘cause they sure know yeh!”

Harry mirrors Hagrid’s scrunched face. “What do you mean? How did all those people know my name? I’ve never met them before!”

A laugh escapes Hagrid but it soon wavers when Harry frowns in offense. Realizing something’s amiss, Hagrid snorts. “Yeh don’t know?”

At Harry’s bewildered look, Hagrid laughs breathlessly, a hand combing through his mane of tangled hair. “Yeh don’t know… Yeh don’t know… Blimey, Harry, don’t yeh know yer famous?”

Harry blinks.

“What?” he asks smartly.

“Yer famous!” Hagrid repeats, speaking as though Harry’s an idiot (a tone he’s very accustomed to being on the receiving end of thanks to the Dursleys). “Yer the Boy-Who-Lived!”

"I don’t know what that means!” Harry stresses. A faint, confused hissing commiserates from his shirt.

“You saved everyone, Harry! Every witch and wizard worth their galleons knows yer name! You saved all of this!” He sweeps his arms out wide, encompassing every stained brick with his adoration.

Harry resists the urge to pull his hair out. “Hagrid. What are you talking about? This is a mangy courtyard in the back of a pub.”

“No!” Hagrid cries, shaking his head and summoning his pink umbrella, tapping the end against one wall in an obtuse pattern. “I mean _this_ , Harry!”

Harry steps forward only to falter at the street appearing through the growing cracks in the dismembering brick wall.

“Welcome, to Diagon Alley!”

Oh.

Now _this_ is magic.

A headache almost immediately sets in behind his eyes as Harry tries to take in the otherworldly sights before him. Past the dozens of mid-morning shoppers surging over the uneven cobblestone street, Harry sees signs for newt eyes, gold cauldrons on sale, accessories for ‘every witch on your list’, quill and parchment packets, floo powder for fools, and so on and so on until there’s too much to absorb.

**So many smells, Harry hatchling! So much magic!**

Harry can only nod dumbly, stumbling when an amused Hagrid nudges him forward. Hiding behind the giant’s bulk, Harry keeps his head down while still keeping it on a swivel, trying to see everything that he can. Random conversations flit around him.

“Twenty asherwinder eggs for –”

“—your brother?”

“—ice cream at Fortescue’s!”

“The Daily Prophet had an article about –”

“Where are you going?!”

“—and Blotts has a book on –”

“—and they’re saying France has –”

“Mum, please can I have a chocolate frog?”

“Now Hogwarts in my day –”

“I’m going to Eeylops!”

“Someone at the Leaky Cauldron said –!”

Harry sincerely hopes no one at the pub already blabbed that he’s here in Diagon Alley, but he knows the thought is futile. If he really is famous as Hagrid said, being around these people might be even worse than being around the Dursleys.

“Where are we going, Hagrid?”

The giant peers over his shoulder at him. “Why, to Gringotts of course! Have to get yer money for shopping.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Course yeh do! Yeh didn’t think your parents left you with nothin’, did yeh?”

Yes, that’s exactly what he thought. Why does Hagrid think otherwise?

“Is Gringotts a bank?”

“Sure is, the only bank for magic folk. It’s run by goblins.”

“Goblins?!”

“Yep. Nasty little buggers that don’t look past their long noses for nothin’ but gold,” Hagrid says sagely.

Harry thinks Hagrid’s description is a little rude. He can imagine how that’d make the goblins feel being called names like that all the time. Harry’s aunt and uncle called him a nasty little freak all the time, and it didn’t exactly butter him up to them. Forest seems to agree as he lets out a testy hiss at the giant’s back.

When they’re close enough, Harry can see the bank’s massive spires looming over Hagrid’s profile. The giant leads the way up impressive stone steps and Harry stops to read the warning sign stationed for all to see. Eyes wide at the threatening challenge, Harry continues on, only to falter when he sees the two guards stationed on either side of the expansive entrance.

Goblins. They look menacing despite only coming to Harry’s chin and, judging by their keen eyes and weapons, Harry decides right then and there he will never try to mess with a goblin. Determined, he stops in between the two of them. Replicating an action he'd seen a knight do on one of Dudley's shows, he raises a fisted hand to his chest, giving a respectable bow to each of them in turn.

He receives taken back looks before wide, curling grins split their faces. They nod in acknowledgement and Harry nods back then rushes forward before Hagrid can look back and see what’s holding Harry up.

 **Well done, Harry hatchling** , Forest approves. Harry brushes a casual hand over his chest, scratching Forest’s scales in thanks.

While they wait in the queue, Harry admires the polished interior of the building and the efficiency in which the goblins behind the raised tellers go about their business. When the two of them are called forward, Harry must crane his neck back to see the well-dressed goblin attending to them.

“State your business,” the goblin orders in an authoritative yet bored voice as he heavily stamps something and puts it aside.

“I’m here on official business,” Hagrid declares, chest puffing out once more.

The goblin narrows his eyes in annoyance. “ _Which is?_ ”

Hagrid is oblivious to the goblin’s impatience. “Official Hogwarts business for Professor Dumbledore, of course, and we’re here to retrieve a bit of money for Harry here’s shopping.”

At the last part, the goblin raises his scraggly brows minutely. He slowly leans forward, looking past Hagrid at Harry’s diminutive figure partially hidden by the teller stand.

“Heir Potter,” the goblin drawls, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into this tone. “I see you have finally deemed to grace us with your presence rather than reply to any of the letters we have sent you.”

 _Heir_ Potter? Harry frowns. Is he trying to say _Harry_ Potter? “I’m sorry? Forgive me, sir, but I haven’t received any letters from the bank. I’ve only ever gotten two from Hogwarts and those were just since my cousin's birthday.”

Hagrid interrupts whatever the goblin’s reply is. “Well of course yeh haven’t, Harry. All yer mail goes to Dumbledore!”

Both Harry and the goblin whirl to face Hagrid. _What did he just say?_

The goblin recovers first. “And does Mr. Dumbledore have Heir Potter’s account key as well?” He asks, over enunciating each syllable.

“Course he does! Well, did. Gave it to me this mornin’, I’ve got it right here. Somewhere…”

With each pat of the giant’s hands on his pockets, Harry feels his anger and indignation rising. Where does Dumbledore get off taking all his mail and preventing Harry from accessing his own money! How long has this been going on?

“Ah! Here it is!” Hagrid exclaims, pulling out a key that has several crumbs smooshed into the grooves. Both Harry and the goblin glare at it.

“Hagrid, why did Dumbledore have my key?” Harry interrogates.

“Indeed,” the goblin adds. “I am most curious as well.”

Hagrid looks flummoxed. “Well of course he was going to hold on to it for yeh, Harry, yeh didn’t need to know about it, now did yeh?”

Harry swells, ready to say that _yes, yes he most definitely should have known about it_ , but the goblin is ready to move on.

“I see. Very well, I assume you also have the key to Mr. Dumbledore’s vault?”

“Yep, yep, around here somewhere…”

Hagrid proceeds to search his cavernous coat once more, and Harry risks a glance back towards the queue line, seeing his own annoyance reflected in those having to wait even longer because of Hagrid’s blundering.

Finally, Hagrid finds the key and the goblin approves it, directing them across the main hall to a side corridor where another goblin will meet them. Before they depart, Harry gives the teller goblin the same bow he did with the guards outside.

“Thank you, sir, have a good day.”

This goblin too looks surprised, but recovers quickly and gives Harry an intrigued look, replying with a nod. “You may find requesting an appointment with your account manager to be useful, Heir Potter. Good day.”

With that, he sends a curious Harry away, calling forward the witch in the front of the line. Harry catches up with Hagrid just as the new goblin, one dressed just as impeccably but with darker tufts of hair around his drooping ears, directs them to step into a rickety cart on a very precarious-looking rail track.

Harry lets Hagrid go first, cringing when the cart groans and wobbles dangerously under the giant’s mass. Harry settles in behind him, knuckles white from his grip on the framing even before the goblin steps up behind him and starts the cart with a wave of his hand. They roll forward and Harry thinks it’s not too bad before they suddenly plummet twenty meters and Harry’s not left with enough oxygen in his lungs to let out the scream he wants to unleash.

They level out only to swerve and spiral to the left, nearly turning upside down before they jerk to the right, careening further towards the abyss below them once more. Harry loses track of the twists and turns they take; his body needing a moment to notice that they’ve stopped moving when they eventually do. Opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, Harry blinks hard, willing away his nausea while also gaping at the dungeon-esque setting they now find themselves in.

The depths of Gringotts is a far cry from its opulent main hall but Harry finds that he likes it, especially since the doors evenly spaced out along the open corridor they’ve pulled up to have intricate and imposing patterns with enough magic emanating from them that Harry can almost taste it in the air.

Forest certainly can. He wasn’t as affected by the turbulent ride as Harry was, used to similar conditions when traversing trees and hunting prey. **The goblins are masters of their craft** , Forest compliments. **The magic and security measures here are impressive.**

Harry nods a smidge but freezes when Hagrid stops dry-retching in the cart and frowns at him. “Did yeh hear something, Harry?”

The goblin is eyeing Harry too, but his gaze is directed more towards Harry’s chest and the boy is positive the goblin knows Forest is there. Attempting to keep his voice level, Harry responds to Hagrid. “Hear something?”

Hagrid looks him up and down, but finding nothing obvious, he turns to run a searching gaze on their surroundings. “Coulda sworn I heard hissing…”

“Perhaps it was the dragon,” the goblin teases, or at least, Harry thinks he’s teasing because there’s no way a dragon is down here, that would be too cruel.

And yet, Hagrid nods as though he accepts the possibility, so Harry is left reeling. The goblin tells them to move along, leading the way down the corridor. Harry follows, wanting to ask Forest if he can smell a dragon, but unwilling to do so in case Hagrid hears, he’s still unsure how Forest’s presence will be received by other magical people.

“Vault seven hundred and thirteen,” Griphook says, stopping before one of the doors. He holds his hand out to Hagrid. “Key.”

Hagrid hands it to him and the goblin reaches up, running one hooked nail into a slit in the door’s detailing. When he traces to a certain point, a circle pops forward out of the door and the goblin moves the top layer aside, revealing a keyhole. He inserts and twists the key, immediately causing heavy bolts to churn within; the door opening with a hiss and billowing green smoke into the damp corridor.

Harry is a bit curious, but Hagrid steps in front of him immediately, blocking the view until he’s over the threshold and closes the door behind him. Recognizing the opportunity, Harry turns to the goblin and speaks with a respectful tone. “Sir, may I request an appointment with my account manager? The teller upstairs suggested I do so after seeing to my vault.”

The goblin eyes him, one hand lazily smoothing down the gold chain hanging from his vest pocket. “I will inform Master Griphook you wish to see him, Heir Potter.”

Nodding in thanks and committing his account manager’s name to memory, Harry settles back on his heels just in time for Hagrid to re-emerge from the vault. He’s emptyhanded but Harry assumes whatever was so important to require such secrecy was able to fit inside one of Hagrid’s pockets.

Or he was able to shrink the object to fit. Is Hagrid able to do that kind of magic? Come to think of it, now that he’s around wizards and witches, can Harry do all the magic he wants? He’ll have to ask Master Griphook.

They ride the cart once more and it is equally as terrifying but much shorter. They’ve delved even further underground and Harry can now see the bottom of the bank’s cavern. He also thinks he hears a roar like a dragon would make, but it may have been the echo of other carts rumbling over the tracks above them.

When the goblin enters Harry’s key into his vault’s door, it is with less pomp, but the contents within are enough to leave Harry’s jaw crashing to the stone floor.

“This… This is all for _me?_ ” he whispers, eyeing the mountains of gold, silver, and bronze coins stacked taller than even Hagrid. A narrow pathway splits the two sides of the room, leading even further back to more that Harry is unable to see. Forest moves around his chest but he seems to recognize it is not a time to talk. Instead, Harry lifts his arm a bit, trying to allow Forest a small peek at the room through the sleeve hole.

The goblin tucks his hands into his vest pockets. “The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter has amassed a great fortune over the generations.”

Harry ponders the long title. “Is that why you all have been calling me ‘Heir Potter’? Because I come from a Most Ancient and… other things House?”

“It is. Your father was Heir Potter until his own father’s death, at which point he became Lord Potter and named you his heir when you were born.” Harry’s brain scrambles to compute the contradicting information he’s learning compared to what the Dursleys told him.

“Your parents established this vault to ensure you would live comfortably,” the goblin continues, steering Harry towards some of the coins and holds up three. “The gold ones are Galleons, silver are Sickles, and the bronze are Knuts. Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, Seventeen Sickles to a Galleon. Understand?”

Harry shakes his head in awe. “How much does one Galleon equal in pounds?”

The question makes an entertained glimmer light up the goblin’s beetle-black eyes. “The current exchange rate values one Galleon at five British muggle pounds.”

Harry’s eyes widen once more, his mind straining to calculate the fortune that is sitting around him- _all for him_. “How much do you recommend I take?”

His answer is a purple pouch procured from a stand near the vault door. “This pouch is connected to this vault and keyed to only those with Potter blood,” he explains. “Merely reach in, think about the amount you need, and it will appear. I trust you will be frugal unless necessary.”

Harry nods seriously, because he’s never even had one pence to spend on himself before and he’s not about to waste away his savings.

“I’m not sure yeh’ll be needing that, Harry,” Hagrid says, reminding Harry of his presence. The giant stands in the doorway, knotting his hands in nervousness and disapproval. “Professor Dumbledore said yeh’d just be needing about fifty galleons to get all yer supplies.”

The goblin stares him down. “This is just a precaution should Heir Potter require it. We employees here at Gringotts are extremely busy running the wizarding world’s economic infrastructure and appreciate it when our clientele take the necessary precautions to respect our limited availability.”

Hagrid murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “ruddy goblins…” as he backs out into the corridor.

Harry immediately feels guilty and shoves the pouch into the large pocket of his baggy pants, positioning himself to leave. “I apologize for taking so much of your time, Mr. Goblin sir, I appreciate you bringing us to our vaults.”

“You may call me Sharptooth, Heir Potter, and it is no trouble, not for such a promising wizard such as yourself,” the goblin says, and Harry thinks his name is very accurate considering the pointy smile he receives.

“Thank you, Sharptooth.”

On their way out, Harry casts a curious eye towards the back of the room but decides to leave it for another day. The cart ride back up to ground level is no less perilous but Harry finds himself enjoying the ride, reminded of the rollercoasters Dudley always bragged about whenever the Dursleys left Harry behind at Mrs. Figg’s while they went off to the pier or other fairs.

Hagrid has to lean against the wall when they exit the cart, his legs are shaking and the visible skin on his face is tinged green.

“Are you alright, Hagrid? Harry asks, only somewhat concerned. Forest laughs quietly and Harry spots Sharptooth disappearing into a room down the hallway.

Hagrid nods drunkenly only to immediately stop, one hand slapping over his mouth. Harry takes a precautionary step back, not wanting to get splattered by anything Hagrid upchucks. However, the giant is able to recover to the point of speaking and waves Harry’s concern off.

“I’m just fine, Harry, thank yeh. Never liked riding in those things, it’s like the goblins want to torture us…”

Sharptooth returns and looks down his nose at Hagrid’s bent over form. “Master Griphook is ready to see you now, Heir Potter.”

Harry makes to follow him, but Hagrid reaches out to stop him. “Woah, hey now, there’s no need for that, Harry, Professor Dumbledore said not to talk to anyone, just get yer money and supplies.”

“With respect, Mr. Hagrid, it is not up to Mr. Dumbledore whether Heir Potter sees his account manager or not,” Sharptooth says, moving forward threateningly and despite their size difference, Hagrid does seem intimidated. “Interference on the matter is unwise.”

Hagrid looks like he’s about to start shouting, so Harry steps in. “I’ll be alright, Hagrid. I need to ask a few questions, then I’ll be done. Why don’t you go sit down somewhere, you don’t look so great.”

Still green-faced, Hagrid seems to relent. “Alright, Harry, yer right. I could use a pick me-up, actually. I’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron, but I’ll come find yeh in the Alley when I’m done, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry replies, trying to hide his relief.

Hagrid nods stiffly once more, gingerly straightening his massive form and wobbling down the torch-lit corridor to the warm glow of the main hall. When he’s out of sight, Sharptooth gestures towards the room he had entered.

“Shall we?”

Harry is not surprised by the austerity of Master Griphook’s office. Spears, swords, and thorned clubs decorate the walls but the ironized blood coating their blades promises that they are far more than décor. And so is their wielder. Master Griphook himself sits behind a rich, dark wood desk with organized pamphlets, quills, and wax seal stamps. The goblin looks up and Harry immediately knows he is looking at a warrior. He would be impressed even if it wasn’t for the scar that carves a straight line through the weathered skin above Griphook’s undamaged right eye and down to the corner of his gnarled mouth.

“Heir Potter,” Master Griphook greets in a voice that reminds Harry of an old door creaking open.

Harry offers him a bow. “Master Griphook, sir, thank you for agreeing to see me.”

A flicker of amusement crosses the goblin’s face and he turns his gaze to the other presence behind Harry. “I see what you mean, Sharptooth.”

“Indeed,” Sharptooth grins. He nods to the both of them. “If that will be all, it was an honor to meet you, Heir Potter.”

“Likewise, thank you again, Sharptooth,” Harry nods, curious as to what the goblins had said about him before he came in.

When the door closes, Griphook gestures towards the two chairs across from his desk. “Have a seat, Heir Potter.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs, settling down in the left one, sinking slightly into the soft leather. He is surprised when Forest suddenly pops his head out and tastes the air. Griphook says nothing at the sight, instead threading his thick digits together over a closed folder.

“Heir Potter, I have been the account manager for the House of Potter for five generations. I can answer any questions you have over the House accounts, your personal vault, and Lily Evans’s vault as well.”

Lily Evans? That must be his mother’s name. He realizes that Hagrid had indeed revealed his parents’ names to be Lily and James back that the house. So, James Potter and Lily Evans. They sound like decent names- decent people. Harry bites his bottom lip, taking comfort when Forest shifts his coils in a supporting hug. “My mother had an account as well? I didn’t think she was able to hold down a job long enough to gather any savings. Nor do I understand how either of them were in the right state of mind to organize such benefits for me.”

Master Griphook seems uncharacteristically confused. “What do you know of your parents and their death, Heir Potter?”

Harry shrugs minutely, maintaining eye contact to appear uncaring. “From what my aunt told me, I gathered that they’d both been unemployed. But I suppose they had some money because they owned the car they died in. My dad was driving drunk and ran into a tree, killing them both and giving me the scar on my forehead.”

Griphook’s face twitches and he leans forward over the desk, giving Harry an intent look. “Heir Potter, I can assure you with the upmost certainty that that tale is far from the truth. Even we goblins know of the noble circumstances your parents, Lord and Lady Potter, died under.”

Both boy and snake snap to attention. “What do you mean, sir?”

“They were murdered,” Griphook says. Harry’s lungs seize and Forest hisses in shock. “A wizard named Lord Voldemort killed them in your home before attempting to do the same to you. However, fortunately for you, he somehow failed and was vanquished.”

“This Voldemort Lord… he tried to kill me- a baby?” He gasps out, the room tilting around him.

“He did. But for reasons unknown, he failed. He has since disappeared, and the wizarding world has proclaimed you as its hero.”

Harry’s eyes close in grief and grim understanding. “So that’s how everyone knew who I was.”

“Indeed. The scar on your forehead is quite famous amongst wizards.”

Harry’s brow crumples, one hand tracing the outline of the jagged, damaged skin. A thought occurs to him. “But… I’ve been away all these years. How did anyone know I had this scar?”

Griphook considers this, flipping his clawed fingers through the folder before him. “That is an interesting question. Magic automatically updates any changes in guardianship to our records. It says here that your guardianship transferred from your parents to your godfather, Sirius Black, then to Petunia Dursley in a matter of hours spanning the 31st of October to the 1st of November. There would have been little opportunity for the public to see you. Come to think of it, I cannot recall any images of you ever appearing in the newspapers.”

“So, people only recognize me because of my scar?”

“Yes, whoever saw you after the attack must have spread the word of your survival and appearance.”

“Albus Dumbledore was the one to leave me on my relative’s doorstep,” Harry supplies.

“Doorstep?”

“Oh yes, my aunt was always reminding me of how I was dumped on their doorstep like unwanted garbage for her to find in the morning. I learned a couple hours ago that Dumbledore was the one to do so.” Forest hisses profanities for Dumbledore, not noticing how tightly he is squeezing Harry’s tender ribs.

Griphook shares the snake’s sentiment. “Albus Dumbledore left a one-year old infant on the ground on a November night without a word to any residents inside the house? _After_ said infant had recently become an orphan and likely depleted his magical and physical wellbeing while defeating one of the most powerful Dark Lords of our time?”

“Um… yes?”

“I see.” The goblin sits back, beady eyes swirling with contemplations. “This changes things.”

“It does?”

“Indeed. I suggest we do a lineage test for you, Heir Potter.”

“Okay. May I ask why?”

“I have a feeling it will be beneficial.”

 **Do it, Harry hatchling** , Forest supports. **He is being honest.**

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “What will it cost?”

His inquiry seems to please the goblin, much to Harry’s surprise. “As an esteemed account holder such as yourself, the test fee is waived.”

Harry nods in understanding and gratitude. “What do I have to do?”

The goblin withdraws a ceremonial-looking silver knife from the depths of his desk, placing it on top of a fresh leaf of parchment. “Ten drops of blood on to the parchment, Heir Potter.”

Harry obeys, unflinching when the side of his palm is sliced into. Master Griphook waves his hand, healing Harry’s cut and vanishing the blood on the blade. They watch as the ruby droplets spill on to the parchment, snaking out, eager to share their secrets. The currents twist and turn, expanding beyond their initial capacity to form branches and names of the people Harry previously couldn’t fathom.

When the paths are satisfied with their display and settle, goblin, boy, and snake peer at the immediate lines surrounding the name ‘Harry Potter’ at the tree’s bottom level.

 **You have quite the pedigree, Harry hatchling** , Forest admires.

“Dudley and Aunt Petunia aren’t on here,” Harry notices immediately.

“This sort of lineage test only recognizes those with magical blood.”

“So all of these people are related to me and are wizards?” Harry asks, disbelief growing with each name he sees. Turns out his father was an only child with parents named Charlus Potter and Dorea Potter nee Black. The tree shows long-deceased Potters and cousins and intermingled families all the way up to a man named Ignotus Peverell.

“And witches, yes,” Griphook says. “While your muggle aunt is your closest relation, it is quite peculiar that Mr. Dumbledore would bestow you upon them. You had four direct magical godparents listed who should have taken you in at the time of your parents’ death.”

“You mentioned Sirius Black,” Harry recalls. “Who were the others?”

“Alice Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape.”

“Are they alive?”

“Mrs. Longbottom is in a rather unfortunate situation; she is alive, but she is incapacitated and under permanent medical care. Master McGonagall and Master Snape are the Transfiguration and Potions professors at Hogwarts.”

Hearing that two of his should-be guardians are capable of caring for Harry, yet never bothered to check on him, is gut-wrenching. Unbidden memories of being told he’s worthless and unwanted creep to the front of his mind. “Do they… Did they not want me?”

“I am unsure, Heir Potter,” Griphook admits, and Harry is surprised by the goblin’s softened voice. “It is up to the parents to inform the chosen godparents of their status. However, from before your birth to a year into your life, your family was in hiding. They may not have had a chance to inform anyone of their decisions.”

A hurricane of questions roars forward, but Harry keeps it at bay, deciding on only one. “Why did Sirius Black only have my guardianship temporarily?”

Griphook shifts. “The true series of events that occurred that night is known only to a few. When your parents went into hiding, they concealed themselves using the Fidelius Charm. The charm is cast by one person and those being protected choose another person as their Secret Keeper. The Secret Keeper is the only person able to reveal where the protected are hidden. There are no spells or potions that can force the Secret Keeper to reveal the secret; they have to willingly share it.”

At Harry’s understanding nod, he continues. “The going version of the story is that Sirius Black was your parent’s Secret Keeper and revealed their location to Lord Voldemort, ousting himself as a Death Eater- one of Voldemort’s followers. It is unknown for sure, but when the Fidelius Charm fell after your parents’ deaths, perhaps Black was the first to find you alive and tried to flee with you before Dumbledore stopped him and took you away. At some point that night, Sirius Black was arrested after killing another friend of your parents, Peter Pettigrew, along with a dozen muggles. Now, whether those details are correct is up to debate. Your parents, Sirius Black, and the caster of the Fidelius Charm are the only ones who can reveal the truth. As the caster is unknown and Sirius Black was immediately incarcerated to Azkaban Prison without a trial, the public only knows the ‘truth’ from popular rumors.”

Harry swallows heavily around the hatred and anguish building up in his throat. “Why wasn’t I taken to one of my godparents?”

Griphook tilts his head. “As Headmaster, Mr. Dumbledore is considered the magical guardian of all muggle, orphaned students. That is likely his reasoning for removing you from the wizarding world entirely. Though, that is clearly not applicable towards yourself given your lineage and likelihood of having magical godparents on record.”

“So, hiding me away at the Dursleys was illegal?”

“Should you choose to sue for reparations or have him arrested on the appropriate charges, it is my professional opinion that you would have a case,” Griphook agrees. “Again, should you choose to pursue such actions. Now that you have returned to the wizarding world and Gringotts can inform Master McGonagall and Master Snape of their status, you could transfer guardianship from your muggle relatives to one of them.”

Harry considers this. As much as he wants to immediately do everything he can to ensure he doesn’t have to go back to the Dursleys, he doesn’t want to trade one bad situation for another. “Your advice is noted and appreciated, Master Griphook. For the time being though, I wish to keep everything as it is. I want to meet my godparents before deciding if I want to pursue any sort of relationship outside of school with them. Same goes for Dumbledore. I have a feeling he will reveal more motivations in time.”

“A wise decision if I may say so, Heir Potter.”

Harry takes a deep, calming breath. “I would also like to have my own key made, please.”

“That is easily done for four galleons that will automatically be withdrawn from your heir account. Would you like all other keys to be recalled as well?”

“Yes, please.”

“Very well, three more drops of blood will do the trick.”

Harry takes the knife to his hand once more, this time watching the droplets fall into a bowl with a silver fluid shimmering inside. Griphook completes the same cleansing process and accepts the bowl after he’s finished, holding his own hand over the bowl. He starts to speak in a guttural language that Harry does not understand. When he’s done, the fluid has somehow congealed and solidified into a key that Griphook hands him.

“This key is tied to your blood and magical signature and will not work for anyone else. That said, do not lose it; there is a fee for replacing misplaced keys. There is also the danger of allowing anyone access to even a drop of your blood, however engrained in an object it is.”

That peaks Harry’s interest. “What other types of magic can blood be used in?”

“Many powerful rituals, wards, and curses are derived from the use of blood.”

“Will I be able to learn about them?”

Griphook hesitates before answering. “You must know, Heir Potter, that in the past few decades, the British wizarding world’s view on magic has changed greatly. With the rise of Dark Lords such as Grindelwald during the muggle World War Two and Lord Voldemort thereafter until 1981, Dark Magic has gained a malevolent reputation. Since becoming Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore has altered the curriculum at Hogwarts and the books available in the library to remove any links to Dark Magic practices. The nation followed his lead and to this day, it is considered illegal to be involved in anything considered ‘Dark’.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Do goblins have a different opinion on Dark Magic?”

Griphook smiles toothily. “We do. You will find that magic for goblins, elves, and other creatures, is different from that of humans. We know that magic is about intention. Light Magic has the same potential for pain and destruction as Dark Magic if the caster wants it to. Just as Dark Magic has the power to heal and bring happiness.”

Harry whips his head down to look at a pleased Forest. **That’s what you said! About magic being about intentions!**

**So surprised, Harry hatchling. You wound me.**

Harry chuckles only to stiffen when he remembers who else is in the room. Griphook, however, looks pleasantly surprised.

“Since Salazar Slytherin and his Basilisk familiar,” the goblin starts, seeing Harry’s rising panic. “The wizarding masses have been intimidated by those fortunate enough to speak with serpents. Lord Voldemort was the most recent Parselmouth, Heir Potter, so you can imagine the distaste people have developed for it.”

Harry’s heart sinks. People will hate him for talking to Forest? But he’s not doing anything wrong, Forest is his friend! What are he and Forest going to do at Hogwarts when they’re surrounded by biased kids and professors all the time?

“I do not say this to make you upset, Heir Potter,” Griphook speaks up. “But it is better to be forewarned. Do not be ashamed of your ability but do be careful with whom you reveal it to. The same goes for your magic affinity, whatever it may turn out to be. While Hogwarts and the general populace look down upon Dark Magic, there are a handful of individuals that appreciate all aspects of Mother Magic. You will find plenty of books and resources on the topic if you know where to look. Just know, if you are caught, being the perceived Golden Child of the wizarding world that you are, the discovery of your wandering curiosity would bring forth unwanted attention.”

Harry strokes a finger down Forest’s scales to reassure them both. “I understand. Thank you for your wisdom, Master Griphook.”

“You are welcome, Heir Potter. Now, I believe Sharptooth gave you the pouch linked to your heir vault, yes? Good, that money is yours to use for anything you need or desire until you claim your Lordship or come of age at seventeen. Normally, school supplies and other necessities are covered by your parents or guardians. Regardless, I assure you that the money in your heir vault is more than enough to cover any expenses until you access the other accounts, pending you don’t go overboard with your spending. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Do you have any questions?”

His earlier thoughts about using magic come forward. “What are the rules for using magic outside of Hogwarts?”

“For students, magic outside of Hogwarts’ wards is prohibited. There is The Trace on all underage wizard’s wands bought from recognized wand makers such as Mr. Ollivander here in Diagon Alley. The Trace monitors the wands, reporting to the Ministry of Magic when one is used outside of Hogwarts. For wizards of all ages, the Statute of Secrecy also prohibits wizards from using magic in front of muggles and there are serious consequences for doing so. Underage magic inside of condensed magical areas, however, such as Diagon Alley, is allowed.”

Harry absorbs this for a moment. “Are there other wandmakers that do not have the Ministry’s Trace on them?”

Griphook smiles. “You are quite keen, Heir Potter. If you accidentally wander into Diagon Alley’s more devious neighbor, Knockturn Alley, you may find someone there to help you. However, you did not hear that from me.”

Pleased, Harry grins his thanks. Another thought occurs to him, but he questions Forest first. **Should I ask about magic without a wand?**

Forest flicks his tongue out. **I believe you should. He will give you the unbiased answer.**

“What about using magic without a wand?” Harry asks Griphook, who doesn’t seem offended that Harry and Forest were talking privately. “Is that Traced as well?”

Griphook’s brows rise. “You are able to do wandless magic?”

“Not much,” Harry shrugs. “Simple things like creating light, water, summoning objects… I apparated once but I hadn’t really meant to do it.”

The goblin looks incredulous. “Heir Potter, that is quite an impressive feat. Wandless magic for humans is notoriously tricky to master, especially for one as young as yourself.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Brilliant, another Freak thing about him.

Forest thumps his tail against Harry’s chest. **None of that, Hatchling. I told you, did I not? You are powerful now and you will be mighty when you have grown into your scales. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Think of how much good it has done you so far!**

“Do not be deterred, Heir Potter,” Griphook cheers, unknowingly mirroring Forest’s sentiments. “In fact, I encourage you to develop the skill. Wands can be taken or destroyed and being able to control your magic without one will be most beneficial. Wandless magic also happens to be untraceable by the Ministry.”

“Wicked,” Harry smirks, feeling a bit better.

**Ask about your mail being redirected, hatchling.**

Harry nearly jumps in his seat, remembering his earlier indignation. "Oh yeah! Forest just reminded me," he says to Griphook. "Our teller earlier mentioned letters from Gringotts and Hagrid admitted that they've all been sent to Dumbledore."

A heavy scowl scrunches the goblin's features. "You are saying that you never received any of your mail from us?"

At Harry's confirmation, Griphook growls. "Apologies, Heir Potter. We had assumed you were simply neglecting to respond. If I had known Dumbledore had placed a redirection spell on your mail – a highly illegal practice I might add – we would have amended the situation immediately."

Harry takes the apology in stride, thinking out loud. "Dumbledore clearly didn't want me to talk to anyone here today. If you remove the redirection spell, he will know I have asked a lot of questions and learned more than he wanted me to. Is there a way that I can receive letters from you from now on, but still have some sent to Dumbledore? If you are able to write some wrong information as well so that he doesn’t see what I’m buying…”

Griphook gives him a wolfish grin. "All a part of collecting evidence of Dumbledore's motivations?"

Harry's mouth curls into a smirk of his own. "He has much to answer for and I intend to uncover everything I can."

Griphook chuckles. "I believe we will get along just fine, Heir Potter.”

Huffing a laugh and now satisfied with the amount of progress he's made, Harry stands. “If I have any further questions, may I owl them to you?”

“You may,” Griphook nods, standing.

“Then I thank you very much for your time and information, Master Griphook, you have given me much to think about.”

Griphook nods perfunctory. “Until our next meeting, Heir Potter.”

Harry returns the gesture with a bow and a smile, keeping his head down as he walks through the marginally emptier main hall. After nodding to the guards once more, Harry stands at the base of the bank steps, basking in the magic radiating through the air.

 **I really don’t want to shop with Hagrid** , Harry admits, hissing inconspicuously out of the corner of his mouth.

**Then you don’t have to. If he can walk straight, he will find us.**

Harry huffs a cheerful laugh and pulls out his Hogwarts list, eyes eagerly bouncing between the necessary items.

 **Alright!** **Where to first?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore's machinations are coming to light, whatever will Harry do?


	4. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes his way through Diagon Alley; it is quite the ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a longer one.  
> WARNING: drunkenness and physical intimidation by an adult male on to a child - no physical harm done.  
> I appreciate all of you and your patience with my edits. Hope you enjoy!

The patrons of the Leaky Cauldron had looser tongues than he’d expected.

People are looking at him and far too many appear like they want to approach him for one reason or another. Several are bold or rude enough to follow through, trying to shake his hand or express their gratitude; but Harry skives away, using skills he learned in Harry Hunting to evade anyone trying to make conversation.

He instead walks as close to the buildings as he can, peeping inside the windows when something catches his attention, but otherwise keeping his head down and whispers to Forest barely audible.

 **I don’t see any books for maths, art, writing, or PE class** , Harry says, directing some of his attention to the list in his hand. **Do they not have any classes like the ones Dudley and I were taking?**

**I do not know about mathssss, hatchling, but I’m sure you will have writing assignments for homework.**

**Well they’re not going to sound very smart if I’m writing them at my current level for ever and ever.** Harry grumbles. **My word choice has gotten only slightly better since talking to you and hearing Aunt Petunia try to sound posh in front of the neighbors or book club. And why do they have quills and parchment listed? Why not pencil and paper? I don’t know how to write with a quill!**

 **You will learn, hatchling** , Forest says, tickling Harry with his tongue. **You are not the first to go through this and many have succeeded, as will you.**

**And I _am_ willing to learn, it’s just… a lot. **

**You will be fine, hatchling. After all, you have me.**

Harry snorts, only to cringe when the sound attracts a plump man’s attention and his naturally curious look becomes one of excitement in the split-second he’s able to observe Harry’s face. He opens his mouth to exclaim something or maybe just shriek in elation, but Harry doesn’t stick around to hear it.

Quickly abandoning his search for a sign about trunks or clothing, Harry starts to feel frustration prickling behind his eyes. He ducks into a small alleyway, chest beginning to ache in his panic and legs tingling with the need to run and hide somewhere far, far away.

**This is ridiculous! I don’t like this, Forest! I don’t want them to stare at me!**

**They should all know better… I did not know it was like this, Harry hatchling. I am sorry, I would have warned you if I had known.**

**If it will always be like this, then I don’t want to be Harry bloody Potter!** he cries desperately. **I want to be someone else!**

As though it’d been waiting for its cue, Harry’s magic surges within him. Starting as a buzzing that creeps from the tips of his hair down to his toe nails, Harry feels a familiar warmth seep through him. Forest lets out a surprised hiss, then immediately starts wiggling, examining Harry as much as he can.

**Harry hatchling! You are a metamorphmagus!**

**A what?**

**A shapeshifter! Look at your scales!**

Harry does so, peering down at his suddenly pale skin, the movement causing a truss of curly, blonde hair to fall in front of his eyes. Pillowy lips open and close like a blubbering fish.

**How---! What?!**

**You can control your scales, Harry hatchling! And your eyes! They are like the sky! There is truly no limit to your power!**

**I didn’t know I could do this! Well, there were the times when Aunt Petunia gave me a horrid haircut and it grew back overnight, but I didn’t know I could control it!**

**I have never heard of many other wizards or hatchlings with this ability…**

The words spin around Harry’s mind and for a moment, he pauses in his jubilance. **Does that… I mean, bloody hell, all of this: the wandless magic, me speaking with you, this stupid scar… Am I… Forest, were they right?**

**Who, Harry hatchling?**

**Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon, and Dudley. They were right, I really am a bloody freak, aren’t I?**

Forest’s response is immediate and vivacious. **NO! No, Harry hatchling, never think that! You are _thekindesthatchling_ , _friendofForest_ , a wizard with immense magic. You are good and powerful, NEVER a freak. _Never_. **

**But…**

**No! I will bite anyone who says otherwise. I will bite _you_ if you insist on thinking you are anything but _thegreatesthatchlingever_! Remember what the goblin said, hatchling? Other wizards wish and train to have the skills you do; you are blessed by Mother Magic and you will do great things because you are a great hatchling. Do you hear me?**

**I want to believe you,** Harry whispers.

Forest hisses softly. **You are going through a great change and are trading a broken, sick tree for a whole forest filled with life. Every young hatchling must shed their skin eventually. You will feel much better when you embrace your new scales.**

Harry chuffs at Forest’s metaphor, yet it makes sense and Harry feels himself calm a bit. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. **I’m being silly, aren’t I? This is everything I – _we –_ have dreamed of.**

 **You are allowed to be silly sometimes,** Forest says sagely, bobbing his head. **It is a part of being a hatchling.**

He laughs once more and straightens, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. **Thank you, Forest.**

**You are most welcome, hatchling. Now, might I recommend we find you clothes that fit? With your new scales, it will make shopping go much quicker.**

Harry steps back towards the mouth of the alley, wary that his disguise will fail, for he’s not entirely sure how he’s maintaining it even now. **I should come up with a name too in case anyone asks.**

 **That is a good idea!** Forest approves, shifting around Harry’s stomach just above his protruding hip bones. **How about _lightninghatchling_ or _shifterofscales_ or _Tim Ber_?**

 **I was thinking something like Henry Evans** , Harry laughs, craning his head to see a sign for a shop that might sell the weird dressing gowns everyone in the alley seems to be wearing.

**That does not sound as intimidating as _shifterofscales_ , but if it’s what you’re comfortable with, I suppose it will do. **

**It is** , Harry says, seeing a sign for Twilfitt and Tattings and thinking it sounds like a shop that might sell clothes. He sets out, increasingly relieved that nobody bothers him or looks at him funny.

As he gets closer to the shop, he is reassured by the window display of dressing gowns lazily floating in circles. He steps inside and eyes the sleek wood walls and pale stone floors. It looks like the interior of the high-end fashion shops Aunt Petunia was always looking at in fashion catalogues, and Harry almost backs out, feeling filthy in such a pristine environment.

However, he’s stopped by a young man with a tape measure hanging around his neck over a collared shirt and sharp waistcoat. His slacks are neatly pressed, shoes recently cleaned, and not a single hair is out of place in his suave, wavy locks. He looks so ‘normal’ that Harry’s nearly convinced it's more akin to a muggle shop.

“Bonjour, petit, comment puis-je vous aider aujourd’hui?”

Harry’s thrown, feeling even more uncomfortable as he doesn’t understand anything the man just said.

“Um, I uh, I’m sorry sir, I don’t—”

The man looks abashed and softens his tone more. “My apologies, little one, how may I help you today?”

Harry strains to smile. “Hello sir, I am looking to buy new school robes for Hogwarts. Am I able to get them here?”

The man gives him a radiant smile full of nearly twinkling-white teeth. “But of course, mon ami! Right this way, please.”

Harry follows him to one of the fitting areas, feeling both relieved and tense when the man pulls a heavy blue curtain around them.

“Now, may I know your name, jeune homme?”

“Henry Evans,” Harry stumbles to say, wincing when the man gives him a dubious look, scanning his face.

Regardless, he bends into a sweeping bow, smiling gallantly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Evans. You may call me Sacha.”

Harry nods in acceptance only to wrap his arms around himself and Forest in discomfort as the man’s honey-brown eyes analytically scan him from head to toe.

“Tell me, petit, is this...” he waves a doubtful hand in the general direction of Harry’s atrocious attire. “A new muggle fashion?”

“No, sir,” Harry whispers hoarsely, embarrassed beyond belief. “These are the only clothes I have; they were my cousins.”

Harry’s so sure Sacha is about to kick him out of the shop in disgust that he starts to step off the pedestal.

That is, until the man speaks and starts moving in a flurry of magic-controlled precision.

“Oh no no no, chéri garçon, I’m so sorry, non that won’t do at all. You stay right there, Sacha will take care of you."

Harry’s so swept up in the man’s soothing French lilt and gentle touches that he is bewildered to find himself suddenly standing naked sans his pants.

Immediately terrified, Harry mindlessly leaps off the stool and cowers against the mirror, too ashamed and panic-addled to contemplate escape beyond the curtains. Around his shoulders, Forest hisses irately, spouting off such vulgar threats that Harry almost feels bad for Sacha.

That feeling increases when Sacha backs up, hands splayed unthreateningly. He keeps his eyes on what he can see of Harry’s face past Forest’s swaying body, uttering soft apologies in his melodic accent.

“I’m so sorry, petit, forgive me, I should have warned you, I will not hurt you, I promise, let’s cover you up with some new clothes, oui? Though I refuse to call those _rags_ clothes…”

Harry slowly steps away from the mirror, noticing with relief that his vault pouch and key were not vanished with the rest of his clothes, but now rest on the seat behind the stool.

Sacha smiles encouragingly, gesturing for Harry to return to the stool. He does so and Sacha comes to stand in front of him. Forest hisses in warning and Harry braces himself, tightly hugging (hiding) himself with his arms. Slowly, Sacha reaches up and untwines his limbs, cupping Harry’s small, blistered hands together in his soft ones.

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry, you’ve faced many battles, haven’t you? Not to worry, you and your beautiful friend there will be covered with the finest silk the world has to offer, no one will know if you don’t want them to, I promise. What happens in Twilfitt and Tattings stays in Twilfitt and Tattings.”

Harry grins weakly and Forest coils sedately around his shoulders, which Sacha takes as an acceptance of his apology. He pats Harry’s hands once before stepping back and beginning his orchestration. The measuring tapes around his neck come to life and circle Harry’s shivering form. Sacha occasionally nods at whatever measurements come up, mumbling to himself as the tapes span Harry’s shoulders, waist, arms, legs, and all sorts of other lengths that leave Harry overwhelmed.

“S-Sir—” He manages to stutter before he’s politely cut off.

“No no, tourterelle, I’m not taking ‘non’ for an answer. We are going to have you looking radiant in no time. I’m thinking a whole new wardrobe, yes? Oui, you could use some clothes that are meant for you. And every-day robes, absolutely some robes, we can’t have a wizard such as yourself walking around looking anything less than magnifique. Those Hogwarts robes are so drab, too, you absolutely must have other choices to show off your physique on the weekends.”

He starts to float a variety of colored fabrics in front of Harry’s face, judging their compatibility against his complexion, which only serves to make Forest laugh.

**Well those colors aren’t going to match you very well, are they?**

**I don’t care** , Harry hisses out of the corner of his mouth. **As long as they fit me, I don’t mind.**

“Such a beautiful language parseltongue is, don’t you think?” Sacha remarks calmly. When Harry pales, the man’s smile turns into a concerned frown. “Oh no, no fear, darling, no fear, parselmouths are quite respected in other parts of the world, did you know? Just because there are a few bad eggs in the nest, doesn’t mean all the snakes will grow up to be evil, now will they? Non, I can tell you are a good egg.”

Harry’s face colors and he feels dizzy. Sacha looks pleased. “Trés bien, let’s try on a few things and see what you like.”

Somehow, Harry finds himself relaxing marginally. His hair does become a staticky-mess with all the shirts being pulled over his head and it feels like his skin tingles from the silky slacks and trousers being tried on; he nevertheless starts to enjoy Sacha’s company.

He shrugs on different styles of robes – not called dressing gowns as he finds out – and stuffs his feet into so many types of shoes and boots that his toes turn red. Through it all, Sacha continues to speak about nothing and everything, never once questioning Harry on his malnourished and scarred figure, only briefly lamenting on the injustice of one so young facing such travesty.

Harry’s a bit mystified by the man’s willingness to avoid the subject and not question why Harry is alone, but Forest assures him that the man does not smell of anything other than proud concern, excitement, and apples. 

When the wardrobe is settled on and Harry’s dressed in a dark green button-down, black slacks, shiny black shoes (“brogues, _not_ oxfords”), and a black with silver-trim robe, Sacha claps enthusiastically, nearly squealing.

“Oh, mon ami, you look simply dashing! Don’t you two agree?”

They certainly do. Harry blinks then blinks again, tempted to rub at his eyes and see if he’s actually looking at a telly as opposed to a mirror. Forest lets out sibilant hisses, sounding much less annoyed with the man for his eccentricity now that they’re seeing the finished product and he hasn’t hurt Harry.

“You are a true master of your art,” Harry eventually compliments the man, smiling when Sacha nearly melts.

“Flattery gets you everywhere, darling, now come over here; would you like to pick everything up later today or would you prefer to have them delivered to your residence?”

Following Sacha to the counter at the back of the shop, Harry nearly laughs at the image of the Dursleys opening the packages and seeing clothes for Harry that are posher than anything they’ll ever lay their eyes on. Come to think of it… perhaps he should have questioned Sacha on the pricing of everything before he chose so many clothes. Oh well, Harry’s mostly confident he can afford it all, especially since such clothing –- and all for him! -– is a long-term investment. “I will come pick it up if that’s alright,” he finally answers.

“But of course, it will give me another chance to marvel your physique, oui? Now of course, we must discuss payment, I know, _ugh_ , but it is an unfortunate necessity when one has to pay the bills,” Sacha continues, waving his wand over a sheaf of parchment, items and their costs etching down the page in neat rows. Harry’s brow raises when he sees the numbers adding up. Before he can wrack up the total in his mind though, Sacha waves his wand again and a great portion of the numbers are scratched out; one final sum listed in red, bolded script at the bottom. “Your total will be 147 Galleons, thirteen Sickles, and two Knuts, Monsieur Evans.”

Harry narrows his eyes and calls Sacha out on his suspicions. “That seems a bit low for such beautiful material and your excellent services, Sacha.”

Sacha merely winks at him. “There may have been a slight reduction applied on account of my new favorite client. It’s not very often I get to adorn someone so ravishing with a new wardrobe. You have been quite the delight and for that, this will stay between us, oui?”

Harry feels warmth flush through him and reaches into his vault pouch, focusing on removing the amount Sacha requested. “What happens at Twilfitt and Tattings?”

“Exactement,” Sacha beams, taking the coins from Harry and vanishing them somewhere with a wave. “If you and your lovely friend wish to return in two hours, I will have everything ready for you.”

“Thank you very much, Sacha,” Harry salutes, going to retreat only to reconsider and turn back to the counter. “Actually, Sacha, are there shops you recommend I go to first or ones that might be better than others for the rest of my supplies?”

“Absolutely, mon ami,” Sacha crows, delighted to be able to bestow his advice upon the impressionable youth. “Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment would be a good first stop for your trunk. Flourish and Blotts is where most Hogwarts students purchase their texts, but Obscurus Books also sells those required on your list as well as a few others you may be interested in. Slug and Jiggers Apothecary always has the best ingredients. If the bookstores don’t have your required stationery in stock, Amanuensis Quills is a safe bet. And of course, Monsieur Ollivander will find you the perfect wand for you.”

Harry creates a mental list to organize Sacha’s suggestion and agrees with the man’s advice on how to proceed. At that point, Forest hisses a complaint about being away from the Alley's magic for so long, so Harry thanks Sacha profusely and bids him farewell for now. Outside, Harry is careful not to let anyone touch him and is still relieved that the only glances he’s receiving now are because of his clothing and not because of his identity. Appreciating the snug and cool fabric brushing against him with each movement, Harry eventually spots a sign for Wiseacre’s.

The shop itself is more worn than T&T’s, but the displays are logical and show off their impressive array of stock. He passes tables of miscellaneous figurines, household products, painting frames, candles, gloves, and other small apparel until he reaches the rows of trunks lining the back section of the shop.

He starts to browse, admiring the different styles, straps, colors, modifications, and sizes. With each detail he reads, he gets more and more excited about the possibilities of magic: some of these trunks have fully furnished flats stowed within. Adding shrinking and anti-theft charms also seems like a good idea.

Harry is tempted to get one of the flat models. It would come in handy should he ever need a place to escape to in a pinch or simply get away from everyone. The portly shop owner eventually comes over and eyes the trunks Harry’s browsing.

“You sure your parents want you to get one of these, kid? We have the simpler ones for Hogwarts students over there,” he points to the other wall, but Harry shakes his head politely.

“They suggested I get a bigger one,” Harry fibs. “Said it can come in handy. How much are the shrinking and security charms?”

“Tell you what, kid, you buy this trunk model, I’ll include the security add-ons for free.”

Harry’s tempted to question the generosity, but he decides not to look a gift-snake in the mouth. “You are very kind, sir, I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful. Do you have a preference in color?”

 **Get a green one** , Forest hisses almost imperceptibly, but Harry picks up on the snake’s biased comment and smiles.

“The light gray one with dark green trim, please.”

“Slytherin, eh?” He laughs for some reason before mumbling quieter to himself. “You all certainly don’t do anything small, do ya?”

Wondering about what a Slytherin is, Harry follows the man to the counter and watches him plop the trunk down. “This will take a moment to add the charms. Was there anything else you were looking for?”

Harry casts a curious glance back over the shop, spotting a selection of daypacks. He sidles over, running his hand over the cloth material of one and considering its size.

“You’ll definitely want one of those for school,” the owner advises. “A few of them have expandable and featherweight charms on them as well so they can fit a whole lot more than ya’d think, but they don’t weigh anymore than what they do now.”

Harry’s cheeks dimple a little at the owner’s encouragement to purchase yet another generously priced item. He does agree that it would be a necessity, though, both in school and even while he is shopping.

He picks a black one with the mentioned charms already imbued and brings it back over to the counter just as the owner finishes adding the protection charms to his trunk. Satisfied, he rings up Harry’s total the same way Sacha did. “That’ll be two hundred sixteen Galleons and ten Sickles, please.”

Harry hands the amount over in several handfuls, watching in amazement as the man shrinks the trunk with a tap of the “rune” on the lid.

“There you go, young man, and just tap it again when you want to unshrink it. To activate the security charms, you’ll have to place your wand against the other rune here and say the password you want, pushing a bit of magic into the rune as you do. After that, it won’t open to anything other than your magical signature and the password.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Harry says, stowing his shrunken trunk away in one of the daypack’s inner pockets and settles the bag on his shoulders, careful of Forest’s body. “Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

 **Hagrid is taking a long time,** Harry comments to his friend on their way to find one of the bookstores.

**I guess it takes many pick me-ups to pick up a man of his size.**

Despite the steady stream of people flowing through Flourish and Blotts, Harry decides to buy his school books there. The sooner he can finish shopping by himself, the less likely he’ll have to reconnect with Hagrid and have everyone staring at him. He’s relieved to find that Flourish and Blotts had the forethought to bundle the textbooks required for each Hogwarts year, so Harry makes it in and out reasonably quick, deciding to find Obscurus Books and look for non-school related magic topics there.

He continues through the bustling street until he spots the peeling window paint for Obscurus Books. The interior is coated with the wonderful scent of old paper, and the quiet murmur from the handful of other customers is welcome after the chaos of Flourish and Blotts’s school-rush.

Harry sidles over to the section labeled Politics & Culture, running his finger over the spines lining the shelves. He decides on one named _Heirship and Lordship, What They Mean._ Holding on to it, he chooses a couple others including _The History of Blood Status, Wizards in the Wizengamot_ (the wizarding version of parliament apparently), _Magic for Muggle-Borns_ , _The Structure of Wizarding Society, Do’s and Don’t’s of Wizarding Culture_ , _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ and _Hogwarts a History._

Pleased, he meanders over to the wall filled with different subjects of magic. He picks _Potion Procedures for Dummies_ , _Edible Ingredients and Where to Harvest Them_ , _Charms for Chores, Transfigure Your Life, Creatures Are Friends - Not Ingredients, The Fortunes in Our Stars_ , and several related to Defense Against the Dark Arts (he makes a mental note to check for a bookstore in the Knockturn Alley Griphook mentioned in case they have books focused on learning about the Dark Arts themselves).

After perusing their contents, he selects a couple about Alchemy, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy because they and Potions sound like brilliant versions of science and maths. If he can’t continue the muggle classes of his two favorite school subjects, then the wizarding substitutions will have to do.

Forest hisses a few teasing comments about buying out the whole bookstore, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s beyond ecstatic. He wants to know _everything_. He’s always had to dumb himself down in front of others; the Dursleys never approved of him excelling in anything, especially school. Harry won’t let anyone again deter him from learning. Besides, as he comments to Forest in retaliation, they’d still be stuck in the cupboard if it wasn’t for all the magic he’d learned and attempted so far.

With all the possibilities magic provides, Harry’s determined to never let anyone get the better of him again.

On his way to the counter, he picks up two children’s books called _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ and another titled _The Boy-Who-Lived-to-Adventure_ (didn’t Hagrid refer to him by something like that?). He's curious despite himself about what sort of fiction books wizarding kids are read before bedtime like Aunt Petunia did with Dudley. When he’s called up, the employee makes a joke about a “a future Ravenclaw, huh?” that Harry doesn’t completely understand, but he thinks it’s something to do with Hogwarts, like the Wiseacre’s owner mentioning ‘Slytherin’. Hopefully _Hogwarts A History_ will have an answer.

Grinning widely when his daypack remains light despite the addition of heavy books, Harry stops into Amanuensis Quills briefly to select a package of standard parchment and quills along with quill-maintenance equipment. He leaves, pleased with his decision to spread out his spending to shops off the beaten path.

Slug and Jiggers is both fascinating and repulsing. Forest hisses in complaint at all the smells and Harry has to agree, speculating that the curious odors and sights are the reasoning behind the lack of lollygaggers in here compared to the other shops in the alley. His eyes are drawn with morbid interest to the assortment of pickled body parts from humans, animals, and creatures he didn’t realize existed. There are beakers and tubes galore alongside the self-serve dried ingredient containers as well as small jars where you can snatch up a few of the live bugs and small amphibians crawling around.

Harry is so preoccupied by the cage of screeching bats on display that he doesn’t see the other person before he bumps into them.

“I’m so sorry, excu—” Harry cuts off, frozen under the glare the man with shoulder-length black hair and even darker robes is directing down at him from his towering height. His surly demeanor and perfected sneer cause trembling down Harry’s spine.

Forest senses them and rises out of Harry’s collar, cursing the man for touching his hatchling. Harry is quick to stuff him back into hiding, terrified the man will hurt the serpent.

The anger so prominently displayed shifts into something akin to curiosity and fear before the man’s face straightens into passivity. Harry shivers once more, awed at the skill it takes to control such an abrupt change.

“If you’re looking for the First Years' kits, they’re over near the door,” he says in a timbre so low Harry can feel it in his chest. Or that’s the fear still vibrating through him, who knows. “Surely even a blind fool such as yourself couldn’t have missed them.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he stutters, swallowing heavily. “I got a bit distracted while looking around.”

“Indeed?” Is the doubtful reply accompanied by a disbelieving eyebrow that speaks more than a speech ever could. “One would think a child might find broomsticks and prank items a more suitable distraction.”

Harry’s nose crinkles, wondering if that has something to do with the odd note at the end of his letter reminding parents their First Years aren’t allowed their own broomsticks. Perhaps they’ve made a game out of cleaning to get kids to do their chores? It would have been nice if Aunt Petunia had tricked Dudley into sharing some of Harry’s duties with that mindset. Are they supposed to clean the school, then? He’ll investigate broomsticks more. “Maybe, sir, but Potions might be the subject I’m most looking forward to. That and Arithmancy. I’m trying to learn as much as I can before Hogwarts starts.”

The man is quiet for a moment, unmoving except for the emotions flittering through his swirling black eyes. “Unfortunately, Arithmancy is not available to students until third year.”

“Oh,” Harry says, crestfallen but not one to be deterred. “That’s alright. I found several books about it, Ancient Runes, and Alchemy. Are those not available until third year either?”

“They are not. Alchemy, as it happens, is no longer a subject taught at Hogwarts. However, the other two are electives you will be able to choose alongside Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Muggle Studies.” At Harry’s contemplative look, the man debates for a moment before continuing. “If you are truly interested in being prepared for Potions, there are several books here you may find helpful.”

Harry beams. “Oh, yes please!”

The man eyes him again before holding out his hand. Harry blinks before movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention and he watches in rapt fascination as three books from the floor to ceiling bookshelf in the back come floating towards them. They’re clasped out of the air with nimble, stained hands and Harry grins wickedly when they’re brusquely presented to him. Their titles read: _Potions Theory: The Boiling Point, The World Around Us: What Goes in a Cauldron?,_ and _Potions for the Bubbling Potioneer._

“Brilliant, thank you!” Harry crows only to bite his lip in consternation. “Now I’ll just have to go back and get more books on the other subjects since I won’t be learning them at Hogwarts anytime soon.”

Ah, and there’s that impressive eyebrow again. “You are aware Hogwarts houses the largest magical library in Britain?”

Harry considers this. “I will likely make use of it, but I want these books to keep and read in case I need to use them in the future.”

The man is apparently bored or finds this reasoning acceptable, because he doesn’t push the matter further. A woman emerging from the backroom disrupts them. “Here you are, Severus,” she says, setting a box down on the counter, the contents rattling lightly.

Harry freezes, sure that he’s misheard.

“Thank you, Nia,” the man says before turning back to Harry, frowning when he sees Harry’s ashen face. “Is there a problem?”

Both adults are looking at him, yet Harry doesn’t care for the woman because his world has shrunken down to the roman-nosed man in front of him who might be… “Severus? Would you happen to be Severus Snape?”

Eyes darker than the abyss scrutinize Harry’s, searching for the reasoning behind Harry’s dramatic reaction. “I am.”

Harry exhales harshly and Forest squirms around him, hissing for him to calm down. “Oh,” Harry practically wheezes. “Okay.”

The Potions Master – his godfather! – doesn’t buy his nonchalance. Neither does Nia. “I think someone’s heard of your reputation,” she teases them.

A lump forms in Harry’s throat because, oh right, his godfather is the Potions professor at Hogwarts. So is Minerva McGonagall; he’s going to be taught by two of his godparents and now he’s circling back to the possibility that they might not know who he is…

Or they do. This is his chance to ask. Did they leave him with the Dursleys on purpose, overjoyed with not having to be bothered by his freakish presence?

But the question builds up right behind the egg-sized lump in his throat, unable to get out. Instead, he nods his dizzy head. “Something like that,” he manages to gasp.

His godfather still doesn’t seem convinced, but he turns to leave anyway, purchase in hand. “I expect competent potions from you when classes start,” he smirks. “Until then.”

He bids Nia farewell and stalks out of the shop, robes billowing behind him impressively. Harry watches him go until Nia brings him out of his reverie. “I’ll ring you up if you want to grab one of the kits up front, lad.”

Their exchange is polite and brief, exactly what Harry needs to get his racing mind back under control. Forest helps too.

**I approve of your godfather. He was helpful and smells of impressive magic. He’ll be able to protect you.**

**If he even wants to** , Harry mutters mulishly.

He picks his head up, realizing that he still hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Hagrid. **Do you think something happened to Hagrid?**

 **I doubt it’s something like what you’re thinking,** Forest hisses slowly. **I do not appreciate his blind obedience, hatchling. Let us not question his continued absence. You have only your wand left to get before we return to the apple man.**

Harry deciphers Forest’s name for Sacha and picks up his pace, not wanting to keep the kind man waiting. When they get close enough to Ollivander’s Wand Shop, both boy and snake shiver under the waves of subtle magic seeping from the hole-in-the-wall.

 **This will be interesting** , Forest muses as they step inside.

It’s dank and dusty like Harry’s cupboard but immensely more mystical and Harry’s fingers tingle with the different flavors of magic calling out from each box lining the shelves packed into the small space.

 **Someone approaches,** Forest warns just as a shadow between two shelves turns into a frail man with wispy white hair and pale eyes that Harry can practically feel examining his soul.

“Hello, sir,” Harry greets hesitantly, stepping forward.

The aged man smiles gently. “Welcome, Mr. Potter. I was curious when I’d be seeing you in here.”

Harry blanches and quickly looks down at his, yes, still pale skin. He gapes at the man, Forest hissing his own disbelief tinged with some amusement that Harry doesn’t appreciate in the moment.

“Forgive me,” Mr. Ollivander -– for it can only be him -- murmurs, still studying Harry. “It matters not what your appearance is. Your magic on the other hand… now that’s what we’re interested in. Let’s see…”

He meanders over to one of the other shelves, fingers wiggling absently before they snatch a box out of its place. The other wands precariously balanced above it come toppling down to fill the space. Harry warily watches him return and open the box.

“Try this one. Ebony, unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, reasonably pliable. Good with transfiguration.” He presents it to Harry with worshipful movements. When Harry just stiffly holds it, the man eggs him on. “Well give it a wave!”

Harry does so only for Ollivander to snatch it back almost immediately. “No, no, definitely not. A shame, your father showed great prowess in his transfiguration abilities.”

Harry frowns and is only slightly cheered when Forest whispers his own annoyance at Ollivander’s comparison. The man returns moments later with another wand.

“Perhaps this one. Aspen, dragon heartstring, ten inches, excellent for charmswork.”

Harry is intrigued, thinking of all the wonderful charms he’s seen so far in Diagon Alley. However, when he waves the wand, the wood bends, limply hanging in his hand. Harry is dumbfounded, especially because Forest finds it hilarious and tries to muffle his hisses about **don’t worry, it happens to even the best wizards, hatchling.**

Ollivander huffs. “That won’t do. And your mother was such an excellent charms practitioner…”

He disappears back into the shelves and Harry scowls at his back. These are the first real details he’s learning about his parents’ talents and personalities, and they’re coming from a complete _stranger_. He’s miffed at the man for rubbing it in Harry’s face that he’s nothing like his parents. What does Ollivander expect? Harry has no living memory of Lily and James Potter, so how could he possibly have the same passions as them?

He manages to neutralize his face in time for Ollivander's return with yet another box. “How about this one? Dogwood, dragon heartstring, seven and three-quarters inches, whippy.”

The moment the wand touches Harry’s hand, it leaps away, rising up and smacking Ollivander upside the head before flipping back down into its box.

Both Ollivander and Harry gape for a moment before the man cheers. “Ah! How wonderous! Do you see, Mr. Potter, how wands have a mind of their own? It’s why I always say, the wand chooses the wizard…”

Harry thinks on this even when the next wand is handed to him. “Now this wood seems just the right fit for you, Mr. Potter. Cypress, phoenix feather, ten—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish for Harry’s skin barely tingles with the wand’s magic before a violent purple streak shoots out of the end, shattering both a lamp and Ollivander’s expectations.

Harry is aghast, but Ollivander eyes him even more curiously than ever. “Oh you _are_ fascinating, Mr. Potter, aren’t you?”

He waves his own wand absently, restoring the crystalline lamp to its former glory. Harry accepts the next wand handed to him. “Rowan, dragon heartstring, unbendable..”

A dust devil suddenly appears after Harry’s wave and surrounds Ollivander, making both he and Harry sneeze. When the dust dissipates back onto its surfaces, Ollivander is laughing for some reason. “Yes, fascinating, indeed! Not to worry, we’ll find your perfect bond here somewhere!”

Harry’s not too sure about that. His anxiety rises as apple, laurel, blackthorn, holly, redwood, and willow wands show great reluctance to go anywhere near him. Ollivander becomes more and more exuberant about Harry, practically bouncing around the shop.

He has Harry try pear, English oak, cedar, beech, sycamore, acacia, and hawthorn, all of them sending pleasant whispers of magic through Harry and Forest. A fir wand with a dragon heartstring core and a vine with unicorn hair hum in pleasure when Harry holds them, but Ollivander still doesn’t seem satisfied.

“Perhaps…?”

Harry tries the yew with phoenix feather core and his heart flutters when his magic caresses the wand, but there’s still something missing…

When he grips “pine, phoenix feather, ten inches, reasonably flexible…” Harry’s magic positively _SINGS._ The room fills with brilliant golden light and Harry’s senses disappear behind the tidal wave of magic warming every cell in his body.

Forest hisses in pleasure and Ollivander lets out a whoop. “Bravo, Mister Potter! Extraordinary, isn’t it? Yes, we can expect wonderous things from you, I think.”

Harry pants, shivering when the magic recedes until only a murmur of pure contentment is left vibrating under his skin, raising goosepimples. He blearily looks up at Ollivander to see the man watching him in contemplation, fingers folded in front of his mouth. The man turns and slowly approaches one of the shelves.

“I am quite curious about something, Mister Potter, if you’ll indulge me…”

Harry’s brow scrunches, but he does accept the wand presented to him, only to gasp when it crumbles into ash the moment it gets close to Harry. He gulps. “Um, s-sorry! I can pay for that!”

Ollivander’s searing gaze snaps to attention from where it had been staring at the space around Harry. “Oh no, Mister Potter, no harm done. That wand knew what it was doing. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity. It is most intriguing though, most intriguing…”

“Sorry,” Harry says around a dry throat. “But what do you mean?”

Ollivander pins Harry in place with his astonishingly pale eyes. “That wand was a most curious combination. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. It is most intriguing that that wand should not bond itself to you, Mister Potter, when its brother wand, a thirteen-and-a-half inch yew… gave you _that scar_.”

A spindly finger points to Harry’s forehead. All the blood leaves Harry's face. He frantically flattens down his fringe, cursing the dust devil that must have displaced it enough for his scar to become visible. A pressing question bursts forth as he stares at the man. “You mean… Voldemort’s?! And you thought--!”

“Forgive me for assuming as much, Mister Potter,” Ollivander says, for some reason wincing at the name ‘Voldemort’. He bows his head in apology. “The phoenix whose tail feather was in Vol--… _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s_ wand gave another feather—just one other. That wand did great things – terrible, yes, but _great_. For those who study such things, it would not be a stretch to consider that _you_ , who defeated him, would display such similar potential.”

Harry stares at the wall behind Ollivander, blinking hard. “I see.”

“If it reassures you any, Mister Potter, I am quite relieved you do not share his brother wand. There are dangers with having such a connection.”

 _What does it matter if Voldemort's dead_ Harry stresses in his mind, desperate to ask Ollivander, but fearful of the insightful man’s answer. “Are there books on the nature behind wands?”

“Indeed there are!” Ollivander says, mood rising considerably. “You are one of the rare few young wizards who has asked. I have one right here on wandlore; you may find it interesting.”

“I’m sure I will,” Harry nods, doing his best to stay focused. “And I’ve seen adults pull their wands from their sleeves, is there a spell or physical band to keep it in place there?”

“I have a selection of wrist and calf holsters should you desire to use one. Although convenient, it is never wise to leave one’s wand in their pocket; you never know when it might decide to misbehave a little and damage something important.”

Harry’s mouth does quirk in a smile under Ollivander’s wink. He considers getting two holsters, but decides against it in case Ollivander gets suspicious. He pays twenty-one Galleons for the lot, returning the man’s departing bow and wishing him a good day.

 **Your wand’s magic tastes delicious** , Forest comments, helping hold the black wrist holster in place while Harry fiddles with the straps.

 **It feels wicked** , Harry agrees. **I wonder how different it will feel from my usual magic.**

 **You have plenty of time to test it out** , Forest says. **Now let’s return to apple man and make sure the giant hasn’t collapsed a building on top of himself somewhere.**

As Harry’s entering Twilfitt and Tattings, a nervous looking boy around his age tails a stern looking woman out of the shop.

“Gran, I thought most students went to Madam Malkin’s…”

“Most do, Neville,” the elderly woman with a statement for a headpiece replies (Harry didn’t even realize birds could get that big, let alone be stuffed and balanced on a bloody _hat_ ). “However, as I told you, you are the Heir to a Noble House. Do you think your father wore—”

Her words cut off when the door closes behind them and Harry makes another mental note to review the books about heirship and culture first. It sounds like there are even more rules he should know about his own title of Heir Potter.

“Monsieur Evans! You have returned! The clothes feel wonderful, non?”

Harry grins at the beaming man behind the counter. “Never felt better.”

“Magnifique! I have everything all ready for you, darling,” Sacha says, patting the paper-wrapped packages and shoe boxes on the counter. “If you ever need anything else, you can always swing by or owl order.”

Harry runs a hand over the crinkled brown paper, looking up at the man through his golden curls. “Are you sure I don’t owe you anymore for this, Sacha?”

If possible, the man smiles even wider, pushing the packages fully into Harry’s sphere. “Non, I am afraid the transactions already been completed, there’s nothing to be done. Simply impossible!”

He comes around the counter, clasping Harry’s cheeks with gentle hands and kissing the air beside them. In the time it takes his mind to compute the strange but not unwelcome gesture, Harry’s facing the door, packages and boxes in hand.

“Ta ta, darling, you two be careful out there, oui?” And with that, Harry’s back outside in the thinning crowds, managing to pull over and settle his packaged clothes in his daypack when Forest urges him to do so.

 **Sacha confuses me** , he comments blithely, making his way back towards the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe Hagrid returned there when he couldn’t find Harry anywhere else.

**Perhaps, but he smells like apples and maybe a bit of cinnamon, so he’d be welcome in my tree anytime.**

**Why would you want him in your tree, he’d be too heavy and would break the branches. And you don’t even eat those human foods!**

**Are you trying to say my tree is too weak? And, no, I don’t, but they always smelled delicious when you were cooking with them.**

**Are all snakes as strange as you?**

**They only wish they were.**

In the pub’s courtyard, Harry hesitates to return his usual appearance. He’s most likely going to be mobbed, even if Hagrid is inside, yet he doesn’t want anyone to know he can shift his scales—uh, wait, change his skin. Right. He has skin, not scales.

 **If he takes too long to leave or people try to touch you, I will bite them** , Forest assures him, readjusting his coils for optimal striking position beneath Harry’s clothes.

Harry sighs, pleased when he only has to focus a little to get the color of his features back to normal.

 **There’s my hatchling** , Forest croons, and Harry can’t help but flush under Forest’s silly fondness.

 **Quiet, you** , he whispers back, trying to stay in the shadows while searching the pub for Hagrid’s massive form.

It takes a surprisingly long moment to spot him, but he blames the dark corner Hagrid sits in. When Harry gets closer, he realizes that Hagrid’s swaying in his seat and is not alone.

The hooded person sitting opposite Hagrid sees him approach first and though Harry can’t see any details on their shadowed face, Harry feels an odd pull towards them.

Hagrid takes a large chug from his drink, slamming the tall, wood mug back on the table when it’s emptied. Wiping a hand across his frothy beard, he turns towards the bar, waving a hand to get Tom the Barman’s attention. “Tim! To – _hic_ – Timmy! Anot- oh! Harreeeee! Harree, yer ‘ere! _Hic_!”

Harry and the shadowed figure finally break eye (shadow?) contact, allowing the boy a closer look at Hagrid’s appearance. Immediately, he’s on high alert, watching the hands and eyes that remind him too much of Uncle Vernon on the nights he finds extra pleasure in taking his anger out on Harry.

“Hagrid?” Harry asks, words slow and clear. “Have you been here drinking all this time?”

“Wha’ yeh mean – _hic_ – ‘Arry? ‘S ‘nly b’n few min'tes.. Just ‘ad a pic’mu’p is all!”

Harry stares. Hagrid’s _completely_ sloshed. This man, who is a representative of a school and Harry’s supposed tour guide through the wizarding world left Harry… to come get drunk.

“It’s been several hours, Hagrid,” Harry grits out. “I’ve finished with my shopping.”

“Oh gr’t!” Hagrid cheers, voice far too loud. “We was just playin’ a car – _hic!_ – card g’me. Yeh yeh yeh, wanna play?”

At that point, Hagrid’s opponent stands, gloved hands folding their cards. Though they don’t say a word, it’s clear they’re leaving. Hagrid lets out a groan of disappointment that turns into a surprised cheer when the figure pulls a rounded object out of their cloak, keeping it out of sight from the rest of the pub as they place it in front of Hagrid.

“ _Hic!_ Goo’ g’me, goo' man!” Hagrid says, trying to pat the figure (man?) on the arm but missing and instead smacking the table. “Be’er luck nex’ ‘ime.”

The figure says nothing, stopping a moment to peer down at Harry, again inciting the piquing in Harry’s magic. This time, Forest hisses suddenly, poking his head out from Harry’s collar.

 **He smells like you, Harry hatchling!** Forest says, weary yet curious. Both Harry and the man freeze.

Harry blusters, eyeing both of them.

 **Yesss, hatchling, sickness, and power** , Forest insists, craning forward towards his focus of interest. **_Who are you_** **? Are you a speaker?**

The man steps back, for the first time looking wrong-footed. Harry thinks he’s afraid of the snake before him, so he opens his mouth to ask Forest’s question in English only to be interrupted when the barman suddenly appears between them.

“Mister Potter! I see you’ve had a successful shopping trip!” Tom says, wiping his sweaty head with a cloth. “I was under the impression you and Hagrid had finished some time ago and he was here celebrating!”

Harry shifts his weight to see around Tom only to find that the cloaked man has vanished. Silently cursing Tom’s timing, Harry gives the man his best innocent smile. “It’s no problem, sir, I had a few more things I wanted to explore. I meant to ask you though,” he transitions with a spur-of-the-moment idea. “Do you by chance have any rooms here available? My family will be on vacation for the next few weeks, we hadn't exactly expected all of this to happen, you see. And I don’t want to impose on any of my friends."

He nearly bites his tongue forcing out the last word, because the only friend he’s ever had is coiled under his clothes, but Tom doesn’t need to know that. He looks uncertain enough as it is. “I’d be happy to put you up in a room, Mister Potter, but are you sure there isn’t anyone you could stay with? A lot of people come through the pub.”

Harry knows this, already picking up on the feeling of eyes on his back from curious patrons. “I’m sure, sir. I’ll be careful, I know how to take care of myself.”

Tom still looks apprehensive, but he eventually agrees. “Alright, if you’re certain. Try to keep a low profile, yeah? But if you need anything, come find me.”

Harry nods, hiding his relief. “Thank you, sir.”

The barman finally smiles, patting Harry on the shoulder. “Good lad.”

Harry resists the urge to flinch and cringe away from the man, instead turning to see what’s kept Hagrid so quiet. The rounded object has disappeared from the table, but Hagrid seems to be petting one of his pockets, so Harry has an idea where it’s gone off to.

Tom follows his line of sight and grimaces at Hagrid’s sorry state. “Alright, Hagrid, I think you’ve had enough. Time to head back to Hogwarts, don’t you think?”

Hagrid’s hand leaps away from his pocket, his glazed and shifty eyes looking anywhere but at Tom who’s trying to help him up. “Righ’ yeh are, Timmy Wimmy, righ’ yeh – _hic!_ – arrrrre.”

He manages to stand, his chair groaning in relief. Once steady, he starts blinking heavily and looking around. “Wai’, no, sumfin’, I had sumun’…”

“Are you looking for Harry?” Tom supplies, sending apologetic eyes towards said boy.

Hagrid’s eyes manage to focus on Harry after a moment. “’Arry!! There arreee yeh! Where… where – _hic!_ – yeh b’n where?!”

Harry hides his anger. Speaking to Tom, he moves forward and takes one of Hagrid’s hands, or rather, his pinky, because that’s the most Harry’s digits can wrap around. “I’ll take him outside.”

Tom nods, producing a corked tube like the ones Harry saw at Slug and Jiggers – it must be a potion! – and hands it to Harry. “This is a sober-up potion, have him take it outside, the fresh air will help it along. And tell him I’m adding it to his tab, would yeh? I’ll get your room ready for you.”

He moves away, leaving Harry to navigate Hagrid’s stumbling form out of the pub. Magical objects and people move out of their way; any curious eyes are distracted enough by Hagrid to not pay much attention to Harry. They make it outside and Harry realizes the sooner Hagrid's sober, the better (he’s heard Aunt Petunia mumbling under her breath a few times about wishing Vernon would stay sober and away from alcohol, so he knows it’s a good thing).

Unpleasant memories of the land-walrus are brought forward as Harry keeps getting whiffs of alcohol from Hagrid’s warm body and breath. Forest shifts closer to Harry’s sleeve and Harry hopes he’ll stay hidden, not sure what Hagrid will do in this state. “Here, Hagrid, this will make you feel better,” he says, uncorking the potion and pushing it towards Hagrid’s hand.

For whatever reason, Forest suddenly slithers down Harry’s arm and throws himself forward, disappearing into one of Hagrid’s pockets in a blink.

Harry hesitates, unsure how to react to his friend's antics. The time to think is taken from him anyway when Hagrid’s brain and fingers finally catch on to what they’re supposed to do. Harry accordingly releases the potion only to duck out of the way with instincts trained by years of dodging Dudley's blows when the man’s tree trunk-sized arm flings out, sending the bottle flying over Harry’s head where it smashes against the wall across the narrow street.

Heart hammering, he backs away from Hagrid’s dark look.

“’m not! ‘M not sick, ‘Arry!” Hagrid growls. “ _Hic!_ Don’ need tha’, do I? No!”

Harry glares at him, disbelieving. He has a sudden unpleasant thought; if Dudley grows up to drink as much as Uncle Vernon, he'll probably behave just like Hagrid is now: a violent, pig-headed child.

Harry’s distracted from Hagrid’s continued angry murmurs by Forest’s head poking out of the man’s coat. **Harry hatchling! I found another!**

Another? Harry wants to hiss back, but he refrains because Hagrid’s still watching him.

“Yeh ‘ear me, ‘Arry? I don’t! Now com’, com’, come on, we’ve go’, gotta go ‘ome!”

He starts wobbling towards his motorbike parked a handful of meters away, not noticing Harry trying to get close while staying out of arm’s reach.

 **Forest!** He hisses desperately.

**Summon me, Harry hatchling! And you better catch me!**

Harry doesn’t question his friend’s absurdity, instead obeying and holding out his hands. Always willing to help, his magic guides Forest’s body out of Hagrid’s pocket, and Harry’s bewildered to see his friend tightly wrapped around the round object the cloaked man had given Hagrid.

 **What is this?** Harry's hisses pitch wildly, not liking Forest’s theft.

 **The hatchling I smelled!** Forest hisses, ignoring Harry’s dumbfounded look. **Hide us both in your bag!**

 ** _Is this an egg?!_** Harry questions, finally noticing the scale-shaped bumps on the otherwise smooth, dark surface. His fingers can barely wrap around half of the width and it’s much heavier than he expected and Hagrid’s going to catch them any second—

**_Now!_ **

Making unintelligible sounds of confusion in the back of his throat, Harry slings his daypack off his shoulder, carefully setting the egg and Forest in between a couple of his clothing packages, securing the pack closed and straightening when Hagrid finally faces him again.

The motorbike grunts under his massive weight and Hagrid puts his goggles on upside down. “Les, les, let’s go, ‘Arry. In yeh ge’.”

Harry thinks fast. “Don’t you remember, Hagrid? My family wanted me to take the bus home. Thank you very much for bringing me to Diagon Alley, but you can go ahead and head back to Hogwarts.”

He holds his breath, watching Hagrid frown, trying to think with his addled brain. “Oh. Oh, righ’ th’n. Sorry ‘bou’ tha’! Goo’, good lad, I’ll be seein’ yeh, th’n. A’ Hoggywarts, see yeh a’ Hoggy – _hic!_ –warts!”

He starts the bike with a rumble and somehow manages to drive in a mostly straight line. When he passes Harry, he’s mumbling a jumpy tune about asking “Hoggywarts” to please teach him something. Harry watches him accelerate and suddenly tip up into the air, looking like a very odd Mary Poppins (Dudley had sneaked watching that movie one time when Aunt Petunia was upstairs and not around to tell him off for watching anything m-word related).

Surprised that the motorbike really does fly, Harry vaguely questions letting Hagrid go off in his state and how dangerous or Statute of Secrecy-breaking his flying could be. He finds he really doesn’t care. Not after everything that Hagrid’s said and done today.

 _Let Dumbledore deal with it,_ he thinks viciously.

Smirking to himself, Harry heads back inside the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom fortunately spots him right away and leads him up the stairs to the third level. “Here’s your room,” Tom gestures to a wood door with **314** tattooed in bold ink. "The room is two Galleons a night, stay as long as you need; I trust yeh to return your key and check out with me when you’re done with your stay.”

Harry nods solemnly, smiling at Tom’s trust in him. He accepts the key and once more assures Tom that he’ll find him if he needs anything.

Alone in the locked room, Harry logs everything from the desk and wardrobe to the late-afternoon sun coming through curtained window above the canopied bed and slightly grungy loo.

He hears a muffled **Let me out!** from his pack and remembers his cargo.

Rushing to the bed, he sets down and opens his bag with smooth movements. His friend is just as he left him, protectively wrapped around the mysterious object.

 **You’d think they’d know how to use proper cleaning spells,** Forest immediately hisses in disdain, tongue fully sealed in his mouth to keep out the less-than-pleasant-smelling air finally reaching his hiding spot.

 **I bet I could clean it better** , Harry says, only half joking. **Now tell me what’s going on, is this a snake egg? Why's it so big?  
**

 **Not a _snake_ egg, silly hatchling**, Forest says, flicking his tongue against the egg for a split second. **It is an egg for _cousinofserpent_... **

**You... have cousins?**

Forest hisses impatiently. **A** ** _dragon_ hatchling, Harry hatchling! Now I can protect two of you!**

Harry stares at the positively giddy snake and _dragon egg_ in front of him. After a long moment, he falls back on to the fluffy bed and covers his face with his hands.

This has been the weirdest birthday of his life.

So why is he smiling so hard?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... heh. Hey.
> 
> There's quite a bit to unpack, isn't there? 
> 
> First, Harry's a metamorphmagus! The reasoning and more possibilities will surface in the next chapter, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it!
> 
> Second, as soon as I started writing Sacha's actions and dialogue, he kind of came to life and took off but I won't apologize for it because he's fantastic.  
> For anyone who doesn't know French (and apologies if my grammar's off):  
> “Bonjour, petit, comment puis-je vous aider aujourd’hui?” Hello, Little One, how can I help you today?  
> “Now, may I know your name, jeune homme?” Now, may I know your name, young man?  
> “Oh no no no, chéri garçon..." Oh no no no, darling boy...  
> “No no, tourterelle..." No no, turtledove...  
> "Magnifique." Magnificent  
> “Trés bien." Very good.  
> “Oh, mon ami." Oh, my friend.  
> “Exactement." Exactly
> 
> Also, wandlore. I used the info on https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Wand to decide on what wood, core, and flexibility Harry's wand should have should have. (This wand atleast, *wink wink*).
> 
> A yew wand, which Voldemort had and Harry nearly did, is defined as: "Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death."  
> Pine, my Harry's wand wood, is described as: "The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells."
> 
> If you read between the lines, the whole scene in Ollivander's is a big hint to how this story's gonna go.
> 
> Snape. Snape. Severus Snape.
> 
> HAGRID. Bloody Hagrid, you hiccuping, slurring, blithering idiot.  
> I hope everyone's okay with how he's written and how Harry responds. If it brings up any tough thoughts for anyone, I apologize and am all for discussing the scene in the comments. 
> 
> I think you have an idea of who he was playing cards with O.o
> 
> and finally.... THE DRAGON EGG! Forest has two hatchlings now, how exciting. How's this going to turn out, I wonder?
> 
> I probably made some errors or missed a few details. If I have, I appreciate them being pointed out to me. Also don't put too much stock into my pricing on things. I didn't delve too much into product prices in the early 90's and Wizarding prices compared to muggle prices, well, the point is that Harry's investing in himself and he finally has the money to back it up.
> 
> Stay healthy, everyone, Chapter 5 will be out soon.


	5. Knockturn Alley and New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Forest have a wild day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments for the last chapter were fantastic! I'm having a blast writing this fic and your lovely thoughts and ideas make it even better!  
> This chapter's a doozy; I hope you like it!

Is this what his life’s going to be like from now on?

**I can’t believe you stole a dragon egg from a giant.**

**Why can’t you believe it? It happened. I _rescued_ it. It’s here. Believe it.**

Harry groans, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Forest and his bounty properly. **What am I supposed to do with a _dragon_ egg, Forest?!**

 **Well you need to keep it warm** , Forest says, taking Harry’s question as a request for a parent’s to-do list. **Eggs need lots of warmth, especially a _cousinofserpent_ egg. And speak to it, it’s good for little hatchlings to hear their mother’s voices while they’re in the egg. And then –**

 **That’s not what I meant!** Harry interrupts, running a frustrated hand through his hair. **Forest! I can’t be a mother to a dragon egg, _I_ am still a hatchling! And you can’t be its mother either! What about when it hatches? Aren’t dragons huge? **

**Well of course** , Forest sniffs haughtily. **All serpents are magnificent and powerful.**

**_So how am I going to raise one in an Inn room?_ **

**You’re not, silly hatchling.**

**Well then—**

**You’ll raise it in the castle.**

Harry’s hand slaps down onto the sheets. **What? What castle?**

 **The castle, hatchling!** Forest hisses, irritated. **Hogwarts! I heard some of the other humans say that your school is a castle! The hatchling won’t be hatching for at least a moon from now. We’ll be at the castle by then.**

**Don’t get mad at me for not knowing Hogwarts is a castle, I hadn’t heard that!**

If snakes could groan, Forest just did. **You need to read some of the books in your library.**

 **It’s not a library** , Harry huffs. **And don’t distract me! I don’t think they’ll let me raise a huge, _ferocious_ dragon in a _castle_. The letter said I can bring a toad OR a cat OR an owl! I didn’t see ‘dragon’ anywhere on that list!**

 **And why not? It’s the perfect place to raise a dragon if it can’t be in the wild with other dragons. Besides,** Forest reasons, **we have a moon before it’s here. After that, we’ll have plenty of time to teach it _not_ to be ferocious. It will be a well-behaved hatchling like you and then I’ll have TWO hatchlings, and all will be well.**

Harry stuffs his face into the duvet, his grumbles muffled. **This is completely bonkers. Forest, you’re supposed to be the sensible one! Please tell me you realize this can’t go any other way than pear-shaped. I can’t hide both you _and_ the dragon under my clothes.**

 **I will not apologize for saving our hatchling from that smelly giant.** Forest insists, flicking Harry’s ear with his tail. **It will be much happier with us and I will be much happier with both of you. We will make it work.**

Harry rubs his stinging ear, giving Forest a dirty look with his one visible eye. He sighs, reaching up to scratch the skin where his glasses had cut into his face.

 **You’re really going to keep it.** It’s not a question.

 **Start a fire, Harry hatchling** , Forest says, positively gloating at Harry’s resigned defeat. **We need to keep it warm.**

 **Why not the warming spells I do?** Harry questions, sitting up.

**Mother dragons blow fire on their hatchling eggs to keep them comfortable. How hot do you think that fire is?**

**Wait, but it’s been in the hooded man’s cloak!** Harry suddenly panics. He reaches forward and carefully brings the egg and Forest into his lap, examining it for any sign of damage. Not that he’d really know what to look for. **Is it okay? Is it sick? It hasn’t been warmed in who knows how long…**

 **Calm yourself, Harry hatchling** , Forest soothes, nudging Harry’s frantically searching hands with his nose. **I can hear its heartbeat and I don’t smell any sickness. _Cousinsofserpents_ are strong. As long as the little hatchling is warmed up soon, it will be healthy.**

 **Alright** , Harry calms somewhat. **But I can’t very well start a fire, what about smoke alarms? Or, you know, _the building catching fire_?!**

**Are you a wizard or not?**

**Not really! First day in the wizarding world, remember?**

**You are. And you know how to use your magic. You will create a barrier so that the fire and smoke don’t escape beyond the nest. Simple.**

**I haven’t tried to make a barrier yet.**

**And now you will.**

Harry glowers down at his friend before gritting his teeth and looking away. **Fine. How big should it be?**

Forest instructs him on the dimensions of the magical shield and makes suggestions on how he should picture it in his mind so that his magic creates it as he intends it to. When he feels ready, Harry removes one of his new pairs of boots – Sacha couldn’t have meant _real_ dragonhide boots, could he? – and sets the egg inside the empty box.

Placing it as far away from any furniture as he can manage, he takes a deep breath to brace himself. Barely hearing Forest’s encouragements in his ear, Harry snaps his fingers, setting the egg and box on fire. Both erupt in a wash of reds, oranges, and yellows before tinging blue behind the shield Harry quickly erupts all around them.

He and Forest stand poised, waiting for the moment the shield falls and the room engulfs in flames.

Much to Forest’s smug delight, it doesn’t happen. The barrier stays up and the originally purple-brown egg starts to glow a deep orange. The box too surprisingly doesn’t crumble into ash. Apparently Twilfitt and Tattings goes above and beyond even with their packaging.

If only Sacha hadn’t vanished my clothes, Harry thinks, amused. It would have been nice to burn them.

 **You’re lucky it worked** , Harry grudgingly says, running his hand along the coils wrapped around his neck. **Otherwise you’d be the one explaining to Tom right now why the Leaky Cauldron burned down.**

 **Don’t be ridiculous, Harry hatchling, I had the upmost faith in you. Besides, you could easily create water and put out the flames before they spread too far** , Forest replies, far too pleased.

 **I could, couldn’t I?** Harry smirks, remembering all over again where he is. **I wonder what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would say if they knew I got a dragon for my birthday.**

**They don’t matter, you’re never seeing them again.**

Harry sighs happily, banishing the creeping dark thought that everything has been a dream and he’s going to wake up back in his cupboard. **Do you think they’re as happy about me being gone as I am?**

 **Undoubtedly,** Forest hisses, sounding equally amused. **Especially with the farewell gift the giant left your cousin.**

Harry barks a laugh. **I almost forgot! Ohhh, I bet Uncle Vernon’s furious… he’s probably getting home right about now, actually** , Harry notices, looking out the window. He should know the man’s routine by now. His body has practically trained itself to prepare for the minute his uncle stomps through the garage to the kitchen and attacks Harry with his displeasure.

**The pig deserved it.**

**I’d give him ears and a snout if I could** , Harry murmurs. It doesn’t matter. He’s _free_. Free to do whatever he wants, which includes, **I’m going to take a bath.**

**Good. You smell.**

**Don’t be mean** , Harry laughs. He can’t be mad, Forest’s right. Funny, he recalls, nobody had noticed or commented on it all day. **Do you want to stay in here?**

 **Yes, I will watch over the little hatchling** , Forest confirms, sliding down Harry’s arm to the bed and down the wood frame to the floor. Harry watches his friend curl around the steady shield, pulling out the packages Sacha wrapped up for him, jumping back when more clothes than he thought would fit inside spring out as the paper tears. Laughing, he opens a few more, eventually finding one with a loose, long-sleeved shirt they’d chosen and a pair of extremely soft sleep pants.

Confident that the animals are fine and the room is secure, Harry locks himself in the loo. After removing his clothes and wand holster with wand still snug in its place; he enjoys a – dare he say it – _magical_ bath.

Squeaky clean and feeling better than he has in months, Harry wipes the fog off the mirror; pausing at what he sees.

People have always commented on his eyes. Teachers and strangers said they were “pretty”. The Dursleys said they were “unnerving” and “freakish”. To Harry, they look _tired_.

He always looks tired, drained. Of life, of youth. Dark smudges and shadows have made residence far too early under his eyes and pronounced cheek bones. His jaw is too sharp and his neck too thin.

It’s everything below his neck, though, that shows the real reason for his exhaustion. If he can help it, nobody – except crazy tailors, he snorts – will ever see the scars and welts deforming his body. They won’t see the still healing bruises turning his skin sickening shades of purple and yellow, and they won’t see how some of his bones stick out or sink in where they shouldn’t. Even with his scale-shifting abilities, he can't make them disappear.

No one can know this part of Harry.

No one can know how _weak_ he is.

 _And they think of me as their hero here_ , he scoffs to himself. He looks away from his grim expression, ruffling the Inn’s towel through his hair and pulling on his new clothes with a happy sigh.

Steam chases him into the main room when he returns to fold the day’s clothes in a neat pile. He puts his holstered wand on the bedside table and looks over at his friend, tone becoming concerned. **Is the egg still okay?**

 **Yes** , Forest hisses, tasting the air. **So am I, since you asked.**

Harry laughs, putting all his opened clothes on top of the dresser and putting the remaining packages back inside his daypack, deciding to move everything into his trunk tomorrow. He reaches into the bag, nearly shoulder deep before he feels what he’s looking for.

Books in hand, he stacks some pillows and eagerly crawls under the sheets of the first bed he’s ever laid in. He pulls the duvet up to his chin, hoping to keep as much warmth in his body as he can. **I’m going to read to my library now** , he tells Forest.

A moment later, he sees Forest’s head then undulating body appear at the edge of the bed. The snake slithers up to the pillows then sneaks under the sheets, coiling lazily on Harry’s warm chest. **Tell me what you learn,** he hisses contentedly.

Harry rolls his eyes fondly at his friend. The sun is on its way out the door for the day, lights in the alley turning on to give it a glowing farewell. He belatedly realizes he didn’t eat anything all day other than a slice of bread. Oh well, he’s gone much longer eating much less. And he’s far too comfortable to get up now.

Guided by the steady firelight, Harry selects _Hogwarts a History_ and settles further back into the pillows, sighing in satisfaction.

He has a world to discover.

*******

**The shield feels strong** , Harry notes the next morning after a night of the best sleep he’s ever had. He tests the fire-filled boundary with his magic. **Will it stay if we leave?**

**I believe so. You didn’t have to concentrate to keep it activated throughout the night, after all.**

**Why is the fire still going?** Harry asks, scratching his head and yawning. **Shouldn’t it have eaten up the air in the contained area already?**

It had been an exciting day when one of the local firefighters stopped by Harry’s (and Dudley’s) classroom to show them how to put out a small fire by “starving it of oxygen. It can’t breathe, it can’t eat”. Dudley and his gang had later tried to use Harry’s body to starve a fire they’d started in the park rubbish bin. Harry had escaped, but his shirt and a bit of the skin on his back had not.

 **Magic** , Forest answers as if that’s reason enough.

Because, right, it is. Magic, as Harry continued to process while reading last night, could do _anything_. Powerful wizards and witches like Merlin, Morgan le Fay, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor all used magic to blow to smithereens Harry’s idea of what nature and science allowed.

Harry yawns again.

Once he’d started reading _Hogwarts a History_ , he hadn’t been able to stop. He’d made it through the whole book and the first couple chapters of _Heirship and Lordship, What They Mean_ before his drooping eyes refused to open any more.

Unfortunately, his body was still on making-breakfast-for-the-Dursleys time and hadn’t realized it could sleep-in past 5:30.

 **You can go back to sleep, hatchling, it is quite early** , Forest hisses softly.

Harry shakes his head. **I’m too awake already. Besides, we have lots to do.**

**Oh?**

**Yes, I want to explore Knockturn Alley today** , he says, the idea energizing him. **Getting a second wand from there like Griphook suggested would be wicked. And more books!**

**You still want a wand without The Trace?**

**You heard what Griphook said, Forest, me being able to do wandless magic so well is strange. And before you say it, no, I’m not exactly ashamed of it… It’s just better if people don’t know. I want to them to underestimate me. And, if I can’t do Dark magic without a wand, I need one that the Ministry won’t send me to prison for casting Dark spells with.**

Forest makes an approving sound. **You are wise to be open to knowing all aspects of magic, Harry hatchling, I am proud of you.**

 **I don’t just want to _know_ everything, Forest**, Harry articulates. **I want to be able to _use_ it! What is it they say? Knowledge is power? **

**Have I not told you, you are already powerful, hatchling?**

**Not enough! I’m still a hatchling, like you say, I have so much more to learn. All the spells and charms in these** , he says, rapping a knuckle on the covers of his books. **I need to be able to know them all and know how to stop them. I won’t let others do to me what the Dursleys did...** He trails off, turning back to his bag. **Or let anyone hurt you.**

Forest coils closer. **I understand, hatchling. But I meant what I said, it is still early. I doubt the shops are open.**

 **No one will be downstairs in the pub then either,** Harry smiles. **Now’s my chance to sneak out without being recognized. Oh! Yeah, that reminds me, do you think Sacha saw my forehead scar? He didn’t stare or say anything if he did.**

**…Maybe.**

**He was really nice when he didn’t have to be** , Harry murmurs.

**I have noticed you humans do odd things simply because you think it nice to do something for someone else. You, Harry hatchling, scratch my scales even though I don’t ask you to. You don’t get anything in return, but you still do it, yesss?**

**Yes** , Harry murmurs, raising his fingers to do exactly that. **But you’re also my first friend, he was a stranger.**

 **He smelled of apples and protection, hatchling** , Forest reminds him, shivering in pleasure when Harry’s fingers reach a good spot. **You really did look and smell sick. If you weren’t my hatchling and I suddenly came across you during a hunt, I would most certainly not have eaten you. Even if you had been the _only_ prey left in the world.**

Harry scowls, stopping his scratching. **Quit commenting on how bad I smelled; I cleaned the best I could!  
**

**And I can’t help my superior sense of smell!**

**Should I take another bath, will that make you happy?**

**Growing hatchlings need to keep their scales smelling nice, it’s a matter of fact, not an insult!**

**Well it sure feels like one** , Harry retorts, but his anger’s lost its bite. He knows Forest doesn’t mean it in a hurtful way. He just doesn’t like thinking about the cupboard or the Dursleys. Not now when he has so many better things to be thinking about.

**It’s alright, I have a bath to myself now and I intend to use it whenever I want. And, if people start looking at me today while I’m in my disguise, then we’ll know Sacha knew and told everyone.**

**Or you could shift your scales into a different color for today.**

**You think I can?** Harry considers. **I thought I was only able to shift into one other color.** He retreats to the loo and stands in front of the mirror, concentrating on a new appearance. Fascinated, he feels his magic stretch out. He watches the color bleed from his skin, making his blue veins appear more vividly under his pale skin. Annoyed that all of his scars still don't change, but pleased that his forehead scar blends in more, he takes the extra step to conceal the mark by willing his hair to lengthen and lighten from black to brown. The final touch is his eyes, which he makes the same color as his hair; he’s almost convinced he’s looking at a different person.

In his eyes though, the tired soul hasn’t left; it doesn’t lie.

He practices shifting back and forth between his normal look and his new disguise until he’s confident he can do it with a simple nudge to his magic. Getting dressed in a similar outfit to yesterday’s except with a black shirt and his new boots; Harry allows Forest to coil around his chest.

 **I’m going to bring my daypack and everything inside with me** , he absently tells Forest while pulling the straps on to his shoulders. **Just in case.**

**If you insist, hatchling, but know that I trust your shield around the little hatchling.**

Harry shrugs, strapping his wrist holster and wand on to his arm. **It’s just in case.**

With one last inspection of the shield, Harry and Forest leave the room, locking it and turning the PLEASE CLEAN sign that’s now dangling on the handle to DO NOT DISTURB. Key in his inner robe pocket, Harry makes his way to the main level of the Leaky Cauldron, ears straining for signs of other wizards walking about.

He spots Tom and another man with a painfully rounded back wiping down the tables in the pub. Deciding it would be better for Tom to see his normal face as opposed to some random kid’s, Harry lets his disguise melt away.

“Good morning, Tom, sir,” he greets, coming down the rest of the stairs.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter!” the barman returns jovially, the other man waving with a broad, tooth-missing smile. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense, though, I’d be honored if you’d just call me Tom. Oh, may I introduce you to Jim, my business partner.”

Harry returns Jim’s wave, looking between them both. “Nice to meet you, sir. The room is brilliant, by the way, thank you very much.”

“But of course, Mr. Potter!” Tom waves the compliment off and Jim makes an excited but wordless sound. “May I ask where you’re off to today?”

“More exploring,” Harry says, trying to show as much childish excitement as the adults would expect from him. “I didn’t get to see everything yesterday.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure Diagon Alley is quite different from the magical district you’ve grown up around, eh, Mr. Potter? Would you like a map of the Alley? That may help.”

Harry’s brain snaps and riles under the man’s assumption that he’s grown up around magic. Where did he get that idea? Is that what everyone else thinks too? “Yes, please, a map would be great,” he manages to say.

A beaming Jim procures a map from behind the bar and hands it to Harry who takes it with a forced smile and thanks. He bids them farewell and returns his disguise in the back courtyard, easily remembering which stone Hagrid pressed to make the wall open to Diagon Alley.

 **Well this would have been useful yesterday** , Forest huffs, poking his head out of Harry’s collar to look at the map in his hands. The wall closes behind them, sealing them into the still-groggy alley.

 **Do you think Dumbledore told everyone I was living with wizards somewhere?** Harry asks, unable to get past the odd comment. He squints, holding the map closer to his face to make out the squiggles. There, the entrance to Knockturn Alley isn’t too far from Flourish and Blotts. He sets out towards it, making note of the buildings he passes along the way now that he has an unobstructed view of them.

**Or it was his own assumption. From what we’ve heard, it is outlandish that you were sent to live with those beasts. The humans here likely assume you were living somewhere safe but still magical.**

**That will be annoying,** Harry grumbles, not liking the idea that he is already way behind what’s expected of him. Not that he really cares what these people think; he’s not going to be their hero, especially not since they celebrate him living when his parents died instead. Their opinions have nothing to do with him needing to learn everything he can.

Which includes everything in Knockturn Alley.

They only cross paths with two shop owners opening their doors and they’re exhausted enough to not to wonder why a child is out on his own so early in the morning.

Following pointing signs to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, Harry examines the narrow corridor. It looks as though the Alley is in a gloomy, near permanent state of dusk compared to Diagon Alley’s illuminating presence. The difference between the two alleys is like night and day and Harry feels a shiver of excitement run through him.

He steps out of the shadowed corridor and takes his first steps into the Alley proper. Forest has his head just out of sight, able to taste the air as he pleases.

**Are you sure about this, hatchling?**

**Why, do you smell something bad?**

**Not bad… just different.**

**Then it’ll be alright.** Harry hisses back. He spots a figure cloaked in darkness cross the street further ahead. He relaxes when they don’t notice him and instead go on to vanish inside one of the shops. Harry continues and though he doesn’t see anyone else, he can feel eyes on him. **But maybe keep a tongue out anyways.**

A store with the name Msaw Ætare etched into a stone placard out front is the first shop they pass. Unfortunately, he can’t tell what’s inside, the windows are boarded up.

Chimney Sweep Elf seems rather self-explanatory as Harry realizes elves must exist, just like goblins. Although, why they need an elf to clean their chimneys when they have magic spells is a little odd. Thinking back to his room’s loo in the Leaky Cauldron, maybe witches and wizards are against cleaning for themselves in general. He’ll have to read his _Charms for Chores_ book soon.

The Coffin House as well as E.L.M and Wizards Undertakers & Embalmers seem a bit too dodgy to go near, so Harry skirts around those. Same with Fledermaus and Tanner Bats & Skins, Shyverwretch’s Venoms and Poisons, and Dystyl Phaelanges. Harry thinks he once heard phaelanges used as a name for fingers, only he doesn’t think they’re a Nail Bar like the one Aunt Petunia sometimes goes to with Mrs. Polkiss.

Potage’s Cauldron Shop and Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary pique his interest, but he knows he needs to learn more before he goes around buying more ingredients and experimenting with potions. Perhaps next summer.

Passing under the Apothecary’s canopied windows, Harry feels the hair on his neck stick up. He turns, needing a moment to spot the figure standing a ways down the street. Most of their silhouette blends in with the shadows of the building they stand next to, but Harry thinks he can make out something rounding out their head, like a strange hat or wrap.

He stares, not wanting to take his eyes off them or appear weak. Forest brings his head out as well but isn’t able to catch the person’s scent before they’re shifting and disappearing down the alleyway in front of them.

Harry breathes slowly, casting a slow, scanning gaze on his surroundings to make sure no one else is close by. He remains cautious even as the street remains empty and his goosepimples fade.

Tiny tendrils of magic start to brush against him when he continues on, and he allows them to tug him towards a shop with an orange glow illuminating the interior behind the word Moribund’s painted on the window.

 **It smells a bit like the dusty man** , Forest says, readjusting his coils around Harry’s chest.

 **Feels like it to** , Harry agrees, realizing he's talking about Ollivander. Bracing himself, Harry tries the door handle. It’s open.

Casting a look over his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed, Harry goes inside. It’s dark, only the glow from the backroom allowing any sense of detail to the objects spread around the long room. Harry blinks, trying to let his eyes adjust.

A scraping noise from the backroom has them both looking to where a silhouette barely a head taller than Harry appears a moment later.

“What do you want?” a grating feminine voice asks.

“What do you have?” Harry replies, pushing all the self-assurance he can muster into his voice.

A small cackling laugh responds. The silhouette moves and Harry barely notices an arm motioning before he’s squinting in the brighter lighting provided by a chandelier overhead.

The shopkeeper is a wrinkly old prune of a woman, but a devious mind and sense of humor are obvious in her glimmering eyes. Her clothes are an indiscernible mess of fabrics and her hair needs to see a comb, but her posture is of someone knowing how to get their way.

“My my, aren’t you a tiny thing,” she jeers after a few moments of inspecting him as he did her. “Nice clothes though. What’s the matter, little pureblood, wander too far from mummy and daddy’s mansion?”

Harry’s jaw clenches without his permission. “No,” he denies.

Her eyes narrow, pronouncing the many wrinkles around them. “Oh? Then why are you here?”

“Why does anyone enter a shop?” Harry responds coolly. “I am looking for something.”

There’s that cackling again. “Oh ho! Sharp clothes _and_ a sharp tongue. You entertain me, little snake. What is it you’re looking for?”

Forest hisses a surprised laugh at the witch’s new nickname and Harry restrains his own amused snort. Instead, he takes full advantage of her shift in mood.

Feeling the tug on his magic once more, his eyes trail over to a wardrobe against the wall behind the witch.

His attention snaps back to her. “You have wands.”

She raises a brow at his non-question. “They aren’t the kind of wand you’ll be wanting, little snake. That old codger in Diagon is who you want for a wand to practice your magic with up in that castle of yours.”

Harry doesn’t look away, his words coming out drenched in underlying meaning. “Perhaps that’s not the kind of magic I’m looking to practice.”

He hopes his intentions are clear enough without being said more clearly. By the new spark of assessment in her eyes, he thinks she understands. “That’s not the sort of magic you want to be experimenting in, little snake.”

“Why, because the Ministry says so?” Harry questions. “If it were as dangerous as they say it is, much of Knockturn Alley wouldn’t exist, would it?”

Harry’s not entirely sure where the words and confidence are coming from; he’s speaking without thinking, knowing instinctively what the right thing to say is.

The mouth full of pointy teeth he receives in return nearly turns his stomach, but he internally cheers with success. “No it would not,” the smiling witch says. “Very well.”

She leads him over to the wardrobe, Harry taking the moment to look around at the stones, candles, jewelry, and jars of creature body parts placed randomly around the tables and shelves.

“You have been to Ollivanders,” the witch states.

Harry hesitates, wondering where she’s going with her inquiry. He decides there’s no harm in admitting since she already knows he’s a Hogwarts student. He nods.

“Then you’ll know he bonds pre-made wands with you brats,” she continues, pulling open the wardrobe. Harry cranes his neck to see around the wide door, spying boxes upon boxes filling the cubbies inside. “I take a different approach.”

“You make them custom,” Harry surmises, watching her pull out several boxes. She lifts the lids, revealing different strips of woods, feathers, hairs, what looks like whiskers, and pieces of bone.

“Yes,” she says, pleased. A spotted and yellow-nailed hand brushes over the materials, likely feeling the magic they shed as Harry’s own magic continues to caress them. Already, he can feel his magic reaching towards several of them in particular.

“You feel them calling to you, don’t you?” A throaty whisper draws his eyes back up to hers. “Go on.”

Following the trails of his magic, Harry carefully picks up tufted black hairs, what appears to be a horn from some creature, and a stick of wood that’s a soft brown.

Confident with his decisions, Harry holds the makings for his new wand in his hands, looking up at the witch for further instructions. His stomach flops at the down-right wicked grin she’s leering at him. “Little snake indeed,” she says to herself.

Harry stiffens when she takes out her own wand, a sharp and hooked dark wood, but all she does is levitate his wand materials in the air. “Be silent,” she warns.

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice, figuring that creating a wand is complicated magic. He’s proved right when the other-worldly chants start flowing from the witch in a surprisingly smooth cadence. The hair wraps around the crevices in the horn and the wood cracks apart to allow the cores into their new resting place.

The wood then glows, brilliant colors burning into the back of Harry’s eyes and surely making for an interesting show outside the shop windows. When they dim, Harry blinks the spots in his vision away, squinting at his new wand: a seamless, straight piece of wood interrupted by tiny carvings snaking their way from handle to tip.

At length, the witch exhales, the last notes of her magic hanging in the air and clinging to his wand. She holds it out to Harry with surprising gentleness. His magic’s reaction to embracing the wand is almost the same as the first time around, except the light that pierces his soul is a vivid purple and sparks like lightning.

Under Harry’s robes, Forest shivers, his own muscles twinging. Harry flexes and unflexes the muscles in his arm, trying to get the jitters out. He stretches his neck, eyes rolling back down to see the witch watching him with secretive amusement.

“How very interesting,” she says, leaning slightly towards him. “Tell me, little snake, do you know what your new wand contains?”

His fingers squeeze around the wand’s handle, but no answers come to him. He shakes his head.

“Vine wood, ten inches, flexible. The cores though, are Rougarou hair… and Horned Serpent horn.” Apparently Harry’s reaction is missing something, for she continues. “Rougarou hair… the American wandmaker, Violetta Beauvais, is most famous for using the beast’s coat in her wands and I’ve come to appreciate it. Do you know why?”

Harry shakes his head again, thumb stroking the wood.

“Rougarous are similar to werewolves, Dark creatures by all accounts. It’s fitting their hair makes for Dark-favoring wands, don’t you think?”

Harry’s not entirely sure what it means to be a Dark creature, but he trusts her expertise on the matter. “And the Horned Serpent?”

“Another popular core in the colonies,” the witch says, sounding more and more amused. “Do you know what kinds of wizards Horned Serpent horns call out to, little snake?”

Harry thinks he can.

“Parselmouths,” the witch cackles, grin splitting her face. “Powerful ones.”

Harry neither confirm nor denies her un-said accusation. “How much do I owe you?”

With another black wrist holster included, Harry’s vault is 16 Galleons lighter. Considering his new wand has two cores, he’s not going to complain about the price.

“Come back another time, little snake!” follows him out the door.

Forest wraps around Harry’s forearm to inspect the wand closer while Harry looks up and down the street for any new potential dangers. There are several odd witches and wizards shuffling about, none of which pay Harry any attention.

 **It smells of serpent and wet dog** , Forest announces. **And like the air during a storm**.

Harry thinks that sounds wicked. He realizes that both his wands, despite being near opposites in affinities, are the same length and flexibility. He wonders if that’s important.

Running a hand over his new wand, he can feel his first wand twinge with begrudging acceptance. Harry grins, it seems like Ollivander wasn’t wrong about wands having a mind of their own.

 **Where to next?** He asks Forest.

**You wanted books, didn’t you?**

He walks past a few more buildings, staying well away from the mouths of the shadowed alleys in between. They come across a shop that seems promising. The name Borgin and Burkes stretches across the black exterior in cracked gold paint.

Inside, sound seems muffled. Pieces of jewelry hang off skulls and the headless stuffed bodies of what look like tiny humans. Harry keeps his arms firmly folded as to resist the temptation to touch what looks like a severed human hand with a weeping candle melted to the palm and several inconspicuous black quills that lay around it. He stays away from the innocent looking robes hanging next to a grandfather clock that shows people’s screaming faces instead of numbers. Next to a table of colorful stone-ridden trinkets, Harry finds what he’s looking for.

 **Be careful** , Forest hisses. **Don’t touch what you don’t trust.**

Using his magic and Forest’s acute senses, Harry sorts through the assortment of books stacked on the surface. His magic and that of his new wand’s tangle with the magic Harry can feel pulsing from _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and _The Nightshade Guide to Necromancy_. He doesn’t touch them, sensing that beneath the cracked, fading covers, something far worse than Uncle Vernon’s rage lies within, and Harry’s not willing to deal with that level of Dark power yet.

He decides _Curses and Counter-Curses_ , _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_ , _The Dark Arts: A Legal Companion_ , and _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ are safe choices, and takes them in his arms. He knows he’d been alone in the shop before, but now there stands a man behind the counter. His greasy, thinning hair falls over hunched shoulders and nasty eyes scrutinize Harry as he approaches.

“Bit late for a runt like you to be out, isn’t it?” he says, voice full of snark and venom.

Harry chooses to respond in a neutrally polite tone. “It’s actually quite early, sir.”

The man laughs, the sound like a shovel carving through dry earth. “Ah, I see you’re definitely not from around these parts.”

Harry faces him down like he did with the witch. “Where I’m from and where I’m going is no concern of yours. I’m purchasing these books, and that’s all you need to know.”

The man’s eyes shoot down to the books on the counter before he huffs another cruel laugh. “You think I’m going to let a brat buy these kinds of books?”

“I don’t see why not,” Harry says, spine straight. “You get the Galleons and I get the knowledge. I’m sure your usual crowd is already quite familiar with such topics. They won’t mind me taking the books.”

The man’s wax-like face tightens into a sneer, but there is a change in his eyes. “The Ministry would disagree. They find those in your trunk at that school, you’re expelled and I’m on my way to Azkaban.”

Harry remembers Azkaban to be the name of the wizarding prison. The threat of expulsion and having to leave magic does hang over his head, but Harry is persistent. He knows how to hide things.

“Nothing will trace back to you. That’s a promise.”

The sneer deepens, the shopkeeper’s eyes trying to pull out all of Harry’s secrets. Finally, he growls. “96 Galleons, six Sickles, and twelve Knuts.”

Harry summons the money without question, not bothering to consider bargaining the price down and risk the man kicking him out empty handed.

“Might want to be careful who you show your face to, runt,” the man warns Harry as he leaves with books stowed in his daypack. “Yeh don’t want people to know you’ve been consorting with us here in Knockturn Alley.”

“Oh, I have a feeling no one will recognize me,” Harry smirks over his shoulder, ears feeling odd as the sounds of Knockturn Alley come back.

Even more people – and Harry thinks some aren’t human – stream through the street. Most have their heads down while some walk with odd-footing, impossible colors for eyes glowing underneath their cloaks. Looking at one tall, pale man in particular, Harry vaguely wonders if he can turn his own eyes that bright of red.

 **I’m done looking** , Harry quietly tells Forest, pulling his cloak hood over his head.

**Good, the Dark magic here is making my scales itch.**

Harry reaches up to helpfully scratch Forest, not caring if others around him think the movement odd. Looking down one alley between Ye Olde Curiosity Shop and Cobb & Webb’s, Harry spots a man in the shadows standing with his nose pressed to the brick of the building, frantic whispers and pleas echoing around the space. Harry quickens his pace just a little.

There’s more traffic than usual making its way out of The White Wyvern and, going by a quick look inside when a man passes through, Harry thinks it must be the Leaky Cauldron of Knockturn Alley.

Passing Moribund’s once more, Harry notices that the light has gone out in the back of the shop. He wonders if the Borgin and Burkes owner was right and it really is bedtime for these people.

“Are you lost, dearie?”

For a second, Harry thinks the wandmaker witch has come out of her shop, but when Harry turns to face the woman in the alley between Moribund and The Spiny Serpent, he realizes he’s very wrong.

For one, the woman – if he can even call her that – towers over him much like his godfather did. Her robes and pointed hood cling to stick-thin bones, the skin on her bare arms as pale as Harry’s currently are except tinged yellow and pocked.

Her nose curves and points like an arrow towards thin, black lips. Worst of all are her eyes, glowing yellow with a red ring around pupils that are more slits than circles.

“Little children shouldn’t be out by themselves, should they?” she croons, stepping forward on bare feet and giving Harry a much better look at the warts dotting her face.

Both Harry and Forest rear up, sensing and smelling the foulness of the woman. Whatever she is, it’s not human.

“I’m doing fine on my own, thanks,” he snaps back, disgusted with how her oily black magic keeps twisting and trying to taste his own. **Don’t do anything** , he whispers to Forest, not wanting his friend to attack the woman in case she’s poisonous or something equally harmful.

Harry takes a step away, scowling when she follows. “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” she says, voice like crumpling paper. “There are dangers here, too dangerous for naughty little brats who wander too far.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry replies feeling bold despite her threatening posture. His magic gathers in his hands when he senses hers coiling and rising like Forest before he strikes his prey. “I’m right where I should be.”

He throws himself to the side, barely avoiding the claws that rent through the air right where his chest had been. Acting without thinking, his hands jab out, one catching her in the sunken stomach and the other splayed before her hooked nose. His magic sends her head over heels further into the alley and when she comes to a stop in a heap, Harry can just make out painful red pustules oozing on her face.

She screams, caterwauling like a cat sprayed with water. Ignoring her threats to eat his liver, Harry turns and continues down the street at a controlled pace. He keeps his head down but eyes roving, ears pricked for the sound of someone following him.

Past his hyperactive thoughts, he hears Forest’s concerned hissing and feels his friend sliding against his chest, moving to examine as much of Harry as he can.

 **I’m fine, Forest** , he assures his friend, glad when he reaches the corridor back to Diagon Alley. Casting a look both ways to make sure no one’s watching, Harry shifts his appearance back to that of Henry Evans before stepping into the light of Diagon.

 **She attacked you!** Forest hisses irately, still moving around and tasting the air trapped in Harry’s clothes to smell for injury.

 **She missed** , Harry shrugs, feeling oddly thrilled with his trip down Knockturn Alley.

**You should have let me attack!**

**You tasted her magic, Forest, it was disgusting! You honestly wanted to bite her?**

**If it protected you, yes!**

**It was fine, Forest** , Harry insists, moving around a large family of redheads chatting in the middle of the street. **Honestly, the people trying to touch me as Harry Potter were much worse.**

**They didn’t want to eat your liver!**

Harry shrugs again. **It’s over, we got away.** He notices the distinct lack of screams and smoke in the sky. **I guess the shield around the egg is still holding.  
**

 **I told you it would** , Forest replies, finally relenting his examination, untensing his coils.

**Yeah yeah, do you want to get some food?**

**If only to keep you out of more trouble** , Forest grumbles, not liking how fast Harry’s moved on from the attack.

Harry pulls out the map and is pleased to see a tea shop, Rosa Lee Teabag, is close by. After ordering tea and a scone with jam in the quaint, doily-infested shop, Harry decides to eat in the outside seating. Conveniently close is an alley that Forest disappears into, coming back when Harry’s finishing off his first filling meal in a long time. Forest’s distended belly is evidence of his own successful hunt.

 **Do magic mice taste different than muggle mice?** Harry asks, bringing his dishes back inside where they automatically float out of his hands and into the backroom, presumably to be washed.

 **This one had a bit of zzzzing to it** , Forest replies, head lazily perched on Harry’s shoulder. Harry notices how lethargic his friend is.

**Do you want to go back to the room or walk around more?**

**Whatever you want, Harry hatchling** , Forest hisses, practically asleep. **Just don’t get attacked by anymore crazy witches.**

 **No promises,** Harry laughs. Seeing a bunch of kids his age gathered around one shop’s windows, he goes over to see what the hullabaloo is about.

In the window display of Quality Quidditch Supplies, a floating broomstick bathed in golden light is the reason for the faces pressed against the glass.

“It’s the new Nimbus 2000!”

“—fastest broom in the world!”

“The Comet 260 has no—”

“If Puddlemore United had these –”

“Too bad we can’t play Quidditch at Hogwarts yet.”

“Could never afford—”

“Mom, can I have one for Christmas, please?”

“—get more and more dangerous every model—”

“Oi! Get out of the way, I want to see!”

Harry startles when the last words are spoken from over his shoulder and are accompanied by a sharp tap on his arm. Frowning, he turns to see a boy with a shock of red hair and a constellation of brown-orange freckles spreading under annoyed, blue eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Harry asks, not willing to bow out of the boy’s way when he didn’t ask nicely.

“I told you to move,” the boy scowls. “You’ve been staring for too long. What’s the matter with you, haven’t you seen a broom before?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to scowl, memories of endless hours spent sweeping lurch forward, threatening to drown his good mood. “ _Cleaning_ brooms, yes, not these.”

“Why would you use a broom for cleaning?” The boy snorts. “Of course, it’s not like I need a new broom to be good at Quidditch. I’ve been playing with my brothers for years on our old Cleansweeps; I’m good enough to make the Gryffindor team first year if I wanted to, but I’m nice enough not to take the spot away from some seventh year that’s about to leave.”

The boy’s pompous attitude grinds on Harry’s nerves. And if he’s a First Year, how does he know he’s going to be in Gryffindor House? The Sorting Hat chooses, not the student. Harry shakes the thought away. “Didn’t the letters say First Years aren’t allowed their own brooms?”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be on the teams,” the boy says, a triumphant look on his face before it falls back to annoyance. “And what do you care, I’m sure your mansion has its own pitch and you fly all the time!”

Harry grits his teeth, almost tempted to let a tensing Forest scare the boy. “Look, I barely know what Quidditch is and I definitely don’t live in a mansion.”

The boy scoffs. His eyes look Harry over, anger rising as he takes in Harry’s clothes. “Yeah right, I know those robes aren’t from Madam Malkin’s!”

Harry feels his magic prickling his skin as his irritation grows. “ _So_? What do my robes have to do with anything?”

The boy’s cheeks start to turn a mottled red. “Because you obviously got them from that snobby posh robe shop, which means you can’t be a muggleborn! You’re probably just here to rub it in everyone’s faces when you buy out the lot of brooms!”

Harry’s senses cringe when he realizes the boy’s raised voice has drawn the attention of the kids and parents around them. Not caring to be in the spotlight or around the boy anymore, Harry makes to leave when a casual arm is suddenly thrown over his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Don’t mind Ronniekins—”

“—here.” Another voice that sounds nearly identical to the first says, throwing their own arm over Harry. They ignore how his shoulders tense, nearly drawing up to his ears if it weren’t for the weight of their arms. “Our little brother—”

“—doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut—”

“—when talking about Quidditch—”

“—or when he’s eating.”

“Makes being around him—”

“—almost unbearable, doesn’t it, Gred?”

“Right you are, Forge.”

“SHUT UP!” The boy yells.

Finally able to untangle himself from the freckled limbs, Harry whirls around to face his assailants/heroes, keeping one hand on his chest to prevent a suddenly-alert Forest from revealing himself unnecessarily.

The identical twins before him are giving their brother identical looks of admonishment, but Harry can see the mischief sparking in their dark blue eyes and somehow it’s nothing like the look Dudley got before he’d start taunting Harry about being an unwanted freak.

“Now now, Ronnie, is that—”

“—any way to talk to your loving—”

“—and handsome—”

“— _and handsome_ older brothers—”

“—when they’re trying to keep you from—”

“—embarrassing yourself—”

“—and our good family name—”

“—in public?”

“You’re such prats!” their brother says, fists clenched tight and bared teeth a stark comparison to his livid, red face. “He’s the one causing a scene!”

The twins follow their brother’s accusing finger to Harry’s bewildered face. Harry’s forced to crane his neck back to properly make eye contact with them and perhaps because of that annoying necessity, or something else they see in his face, but they only wink at him in unison and turn back to their brother with disapproving folded arms.

“That’s not what we saw, is it Forge?”

“No it was not, Gred. I think little Ronnie should go back to mummy—”

“—before he gets into more trouble.”

“Couldn’t agree more!”

“FRED! GEORGE! RONALD! GET BACK HERE!” The boys and some of the adults in the crowd cringe under the shrill woman’s piercing call through the air.

Harry can’t see what she looks like and he’s not sure he wants to after spending years hearing Aunt Petunia’s own shrieks.

The twins smirk. “Ah, right on time.”

“The matriarch calls.”

“What she wills, we must obey.”

They turn to Harry, both sweeping into exaggerated bows. “Until Hogwarts then, little Firstie.”

“Fare thee well!” They straighten and, grinning brightly, drag their protesting brother away through the crowd.

A few kids giggle now that the show’s ended, just as amused by the twins’ antics as Harry is. Most of the adults look confused.

 **Those are the two oddest hatchlings I’ve ever met** , Forest shares, calming down now that the threats have left.

Harry feels obliged to agree, yet a part of him is excited he’s going to the same school as Gred and Forge. Ronald he could do without.

As the crowd around him turns their focus back to the window display, Harry finds that he’s not that curious anymore. He’s still not too sure what the significance of Quidditch is, but he’s had enough to do with it for the day.

Heading further down the Alley, Harry pulls out the map once more. **How about we find you some yummy snacks that we can keep in our room in case you can’t go hunting. Then we’ll go check on the egg.**

 **I find that idea acceptable** , Forest allows, glad to be able to relax his coils once more. Stress is not good for digestion.

Harry nods absently. **Alright, the Magical Menagerie is probably where we’ll find some.**

He sets off, wondering if Ronald thinks he’ll be in Gryffindor because his brothers are too. Gred and Forge seemed to fit more along the lines of Slytherins, Harry thinks. But he was in their presence for barely a minute, so what does he know?

He hears the Magical Menagerie before he sees it; the hoots of owls and screeches of other birds is hard to miss. There is one large barn owl sitting on the ledge of the roof above the door and Harry thinks for a moment that it’s a statue until it suddenly whirs its head and its pupils grow when it looks right at Harry.

Forest hisses in annoyance, probably smelling all his feathered foes. Hearing or smelling Forest, the owl flaps its wings in agitation, hooting loudly. Wanting to avoid the owl dive bombing him, Harry ducks inside, instantly on edge with the increased volume.

Kids screech nearly as loud as the owls while ravens eye them all as if they’re inferior. There are displays with colorful balls of pure fluff that turn out to be creatures called Puffskeins and Pygmy Puffs. Black-furred, billed critters with tails watch everyone passing by, their clawed hands itching to reach out for something. Ferrets run around in a pen next to one showing off Transforming Rabbits which look like the ones Harry’s seen before except they sporadically turn into top-hats and back again. Cages of adult cats and dogs line one wall. The signs above them say Kneazles and Crups, so Harry realizes they’re magical breeds; noticing the kneazles are quite large with tufted ears and the crups have two tails.

Thinking of Ripper the bulldog, Harry stays well away from the crups and pen of cruppies, eventually finding himself drawn to a pen that holds a dozen adorable kittens. Thanks to Mrs. Figg sharing her obsession of everything cat-related with Harry whenever she babysat him, Harry’s familiar with the felines. There are Siamese, Ginger, Tabby, and a handful that are either pure white or pure black in color. They all tumble about, meowing up at him and two girls cooing from the other side of the glass pen.

Two of the kittens break apart and Harry notices that one he thought to be pure black actually has a tuft of white fur in the center of its forehead. It also is the runt of the litter, he notices, already being bowled over by one of its bigger siblings. With a gentle hand, Harry nudges the playful Siamese away, giving the black kitten a chance to gain its footing. When it does, it chirps up at Harry and brushes its cheek against his hand. Harry doesn’t bother restraining the smile that splits his face. Mrs. Figg’s house smelled something awful, but her cats always cheered Harry up and this one is especially adorable.

“They’re so cute!” The auburn-haired girl across from him says, exclaiming when one of the Tabbies comes up to playfully bat at her dangling fingers.

“I know!” her blond friend agrees, squealing with cuteness-overload. “I just want to cuddle all of them!”

Another girl suddenly appears behind them, her haughty tone and mess of frizzy brown curls announcing her presence. “You know, those are just common cats. There’s nothing special about them. The kneazles though, now they’re _fascinating_.”

Harry examines the ball of orange fur the girl holds in her arms. It’s almost double the size of the kittens. It looks like a small tiger with odd proportions, its squashed face and ears not quite grown into its body yet.

“Kneazles are alright,” the blond says, shrugging. “But they’re mean. Kittens are much cuter and always want to play.”

The curly haired girl rolls her eyes and huffs, revealing unfortunate buckteeth. “I’ve read all about kneazles, they’re not mean. They’re cats! They’ll all get along. Watch.”

Before the other girls or Harry can react, she tosses the small tiger into the pen with the kittens. Immediately, the fur on their backs rises and they all arch away from the kneazle on their toes, hissing for all they're worth. The kneazle hisses back, meowing little roars and swiping at the kittens closest to it.

“Hey!” Harry exclaims. Fearing for the kittens, his magic reaches out, raising the spitting kneazle into the air and into his outstretched hand. He holds the scruff of the kneazle’s neck, hoping its like handling any other feisty cat.

The kneazle doesn’t calm down, but at that point, one of the shop attendants has noticed the commotion and rushes over. “Oh my goodness, how did a kneazle get in there? They’re not supposed to be together…” She takes the kneazle from Harry, fumbling over her words as she tries to commend Harry while controlling the squirming beast. “You handled it very well, young man, these kittens could have gotten seriously injured. Anything you want in the store, you can have, blimey, we could have lost a few of them…”

Harry ignores her offer for the moment, watching as she walks around them to replace the kneazle back in its pen with the others.

The two girls, now furious, round on Miss-Know-It-All who only turns her nose up and folds her arms. Harry glowers at her, knowing she’s not going to take responsibility for endangering the kittens.

“You’ve obviously read the wrong books,” the blond sneers. “Anyone worth their magic knows kneazles are mean, that’s why they’re not allowed at Hogwarts!”

“The letter said _cats_ are allowed!” the girl snarks back. “Kneazles are a breed of cat!”

“Actually,” the attendant cuts in, “They’re _related_ to cats and sometimes are interbred with them, but these here are pure kneazles and like your friend said, they aren’t allowed at Hogwarts. They’re far too aggressive.”

Much like Ronald, this girl’s cheeks redden as she blusters, looking lost for words under an authoritative figure’s berating. Seeing as the girl’s not going to say anything else, the attendant returns to inspect the kittens. They’re all hunkered together in the corner, ears flat and eyes skittish, but there’s no blood anywhere and none are moving oddly. Sighing in relief, she turns back to Harry, smiling and patting him on the shoulder. “Seriously kid, anything you want, just bring it up front to show me before you go.”

Surprised that she’s insisting on being so generous, Harry nods, smiling in return. Another pat on the shoulder and he’s alone with the three girls, everyone else in the shop still distracted by the other animals.

“That was brilliant accidental magic,” the auburn girl compliments Harry.

“Yeah! You saved them!” Her friend adds, bouncing on her toes. “What’s your name?”

Harry doesn’t like how they’re gazing at him starry-eyed, even if he did earn the reverent looks. “Um… Henry Evans.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Henry,” the blonde smiles. “I’m Hannah Abbott. And this is my best friend, Susan Bones.”

Harry returns Susan’s wave and smiles back. “Pleasure to meet you both as well.”

“A- _hem!_ ” Harry, Susan, and Hannah turn back to see the rude girl is glaring at them with hands planted on her hips. “Aren’t you going to ask _my_ name?”

The three of them stare at the classless girl until she looks fit to stomp her foot in frustration. Finally, Susan asks in a short tone, “What is your name?”

The girl’s demeanor shifts back into her confident, snooty posture. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Ah. A muggleborn?” Hannah asks, tone barely described as polite. Harry doesn’t think she’s being rude because of Granger’s status though, just annoyed with the girl in general.

Granger’s chin lifts. “I am. I’m the first witch in my family!”

“I bet your parents are proud,” Susan responds for manner’s sake before signaling the end of the conversation by facing Harry once more. “Are you a muggleborn too, Henry? I haven’t seen you around before.”

Evading any possible clues to his identity, Harry gives her a non-answer. “Both my parents went to Hogwarts.”

“Wicked!” Hannah says, both of them walking closer to Harry to hear him better. He tries not to retreat. “What House were they in?”

“Gryffindor,” he responds, very much wishing for an excuse to leave. Hannah and Susan don’t seem to notice, instead starting to talk about their own families when Granger interjects herself into their conversation yet again.

“That’s the house Headmaster Dumbledore was in! He’s the greatest wizard since Merlin. Based on what I read in _Hogwarts a History_ , I’d definitely fit in to Ravenclaw given how bright I am, but I think I’ll ask the Sorting Hat to put me in Gryffindor like the Headmaster.”

Harry and Hannah are annoyed with the girl’s intrusion, but Susan almost looks confused. “Is it proper manners for muggles to interrupt all the time?”

Granger doesn’t seem to read between the lines. “Actually, I’d say wizarding practices are quite barbaric, don’t you think? Honestly, everything I’ve read shows how far behind the times they are, they really need to change so that muggleborns like me feel more welcome. Like having technology or _pens_ for instance. What’s wrong with just using a biro?”

With every word she speaks, Harry sends pleas to Mother Magic that he won't be in the same House as the girl. _Make the magic world more muggle?_ Is she mad?! Why would he ever want to go back to people like the Dursleys and their perfectly _normal_ expectations in life when he has _magic?_

He can’t help himself. “Actually, I think it should be the other way around.” The three girls turn to face him, all showing their surprise. Though, Hannah and Susan seem pleased and intrigued whereas Granger looks offended. “The wizarding world’s culture has a much longer history and since you’re coming into this world, you and the other muggleborns should adapt in order to fit in, not try and change traditions that have lasted hundreds of years.”

“Very well said, Henry, I couldn’t agree more!” Susan says with an approving nod.

Granger sputters. “But it’s so outdated!”

Hannah shrugs. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay.”

Granger gives all of them a venomous glare. “Ugh, you couldn’t possibly understand!”

She stomps away before they can respond. None of them try to stop her.

“Glad she’s not going to be in Hufflepuff,” Susan eventually says, side-eyeing her friend.

Hannah grins. “Hopefully we won’t have too many classes with her.”

They both turn to Harry. He has an idea of where their questions are going to lead and wants to cut off the discussion before they get there. “So, uh, which kitten did you want?”

Susan blinks. “Huh?”

Harry averts his eyes, fighting his irritation and embarrassment. “A kitten. The attendant said I could get whatever I wanted, but I wasn’t going to get anything, so I’ll choose a kitten for you. Which one did you want? Oh, um, will your family even let you get one?”

His offer takes a moment to sink in before the girls squeal, tackling him. He wants to shout but Forest squeezes his chest and Harry recognizes the gesture as reassurance. At that point, he realizes Hannah and Susan have not in fact tackled him, but are hugging him.

“Oh thank you, Henry, thank you!” Susan gushes, releasing him and stepping back with a brilliant smile.

“You’re probably the nicest boy we’ve ever met,” Hannah agrees, releasing him as well. “And yes, we’re allowed. We came here to pick a pet to take to school.”

Harry coughs and rubs the back of his head. “It’s nothing. So, which one do you like then?”

He waits as patiently as he can while the girls debate which kitten is the best, all the while stepping out of the way when someone passes by, also keeping an eye out for Granger in case she comes back.

Forest isn’t happy about being in there so long without getting his snacks, so Harry quietly assures him they’re almost done and he’ll get him the biggest snacks he can find.

When Susan holds up the Tabby from earlier and it snuggles right into her arms, Harry knows they’re enchanted even before they practically melt into the floor in adoration.

“You’re sure about this, Henry,” Hannah asks, giving him a be-straight-with-me look.

He smiles blithely, unintimidated. “Only if I can come say hi to her sometimes at school.”

Both girls nod vigorously.

“Absolutely.”

“Anytime.”

“You can come say hi to us anytime too.”

Harry smiles more honestly. “I’d like that.” A small meow brings his attention back to the pen where the tiny black and white kitten is on her back feet, pawing at the pen wall in front of him. Harry’s heart clenches and he wants to cuddle her and never let go, but the shifting of scales around his chest and memory of the _dragon egg_ in his room remind him that he already has animal companions. He reluctantly looks away. “Here, lets head up to the register.”

They only have to wait behind one person before they’re helped by the attendant who smiles when she sees its them. “You find a new friend?”

Harry nods. “I did. Is this one okay?”

“You betcha,” the attendant agrees easily, taking the Tabby from Susan and gently setting the kitten inside a transport cage before handing it back to Susan. “She’s a beauty. You take care of her, alright?”

“We will,” the girls chorus with Harry belatedly agreeing.

The attendant smiles wider. “Wonderful, you all have a good day. Enjoy Hogwarts!”

They say their thanks and Harry walks the girls to the door before stopping. “I just remembered, I wanted to look at the toads in the back of the shop.”

As expected, both the girls make squeamish faces. “I think we’ll let you do that on your own, Henry, no offense.”

“Yeah,” Susan agrees, shifting her arms to hold the cage better. “We like Neville Longbottom’s toad, Trevor, well enough, but toads are really gross.”

“No offense taken,” Harry says with a forced laugh, wondering if Neville Longbottom is the same boy he passed at Twilfitt and Tattings. Maybe he's related to Harry's godmother too. “I guess I’ll see you at Hogwarts then.”

The disgusted expressions return to happiness.

“You bet!” Hannah quips, surprising Harry again by hugging him around the neck.

Susan waves instead of hugging him. “Thanks again for the kitten, Henry!”

Harry nods and smiles after them, dropping the expression when they’re out of sight. His cheeks hurt.

 **You are indeed the kindest hatchling** , Forest jokes.

 **Thanks** , Harry replies, veering out of the way of a woman holding a bag of Crup food in her arms. **I just wish they wouldn’t touch me.**

Forest only taps his tail against his ribs in response.

The back portion of the shop is much quieter. He is alone surrounded by the toads, Streelers, Flobberworms, bats, newts, Fire Crabs, rats and snakes residing in temperature-controlled, earthly terrariums.

As he gets closer to the snakes, he realizes that the conversations he’s been hearing are not from the human shoppers as he originally thought.

**Oh look, a human hatchling!**

**It’s quite sssssmall.**

**Smells sssssickly it does.**

Harry huffs when Forest laughs. **Trusssst me, I’ve been worse** , he tells the snakes.

All snake heads turn towards him in a way far too similar to humans’ reactions to hearing ‘Harry Potter’.

**A speaker?**

**The hatchling is a sssspeaker!**

**How is one so thin so powerful?**

**Choose me, speaker, I will be your familiar!**

Forest rises up out of Harry’s shirt, swaying threateningly. **Back off! He already has me!** He spits at the Leopard Snake who’d spoken up last.

 **Sorry** , Harry apologizes to the patterned serpent with sincerity. **I wish I could take all of you, _handsomescales_. **

The Leopard Snake slinks back down in sadness, causing the Adder in the container next to him to try to cheer him up.

 **Do the humans treat you well?** Harry asks the Adder.

 **It is loud. And there’s no room to hunt,** she replies.

 **Humans don’t know how to hold us** , a Dwarf Snake adds.

**But our bellies are always full.**

**Some of us find nice hatchlings that take us away.**

**Though ssssometimes bad humans come in and try to take us for potion parts.**

Harry looks appalled.

**That’s awful!**

**Do not worry, hatchling** , the Adder soothes. **The nest humans don’t let them take us.**

She must mean the store attendants.

**If you’re sure…**

**We are.**

Harry reminds himself that he regretfully can’t help all the animals he comes across. He has Forest and a dragon to look after. Speaking of…

 **Let’s find you snacks** , he tells his friend.

They move beyond the snakes where rats, mice, and an assortment of eggs meant for food are sorted in different containers. **Pick your favorites.**

Forest is nearly quivering in excitement, having such a buffet before him. They’re both so focused on their task that they don’t hear a family approach the snake habitats until a boy’s voice calls out in excitement.

“Mother, look, isn’t he beautiful! Father, may I have this one?”

**Ouch, ssstupid hatchling, you’re twisting my scales!**

Both Harry and Forest look over to see a platinum blonde boy around Harry’s age holding the Adder snake far too tightly, her white and black-zippered scales stretching in his grip.

Forest hisses in displeasure, food forgotten. **Help her!**

His plea is unnecessary, Harry is already moving towards the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

The boy whips around with a scowl, but Harry interrupts before he can speak. “You’re hurting her,” he says, rearranging the boy’s hands and easing his grip so the Adder is more comfortable. “She doesn’t like being held so tight.”

The boy gapes at him and Harry can feel the gaze of the boy’s parents baring down on him as well. Harry takes a step back, a blush coming forth at the attention and his brash actions. He smiles however when the Adder blinks her vivid red eyes at him and hisses a relieved, **Thank you, kind hatchling.**

Harry’s attention returns to the humans when the boy blusters out an indignant, “How do you know I was holding her wrong?”

“Because she said so,” Harry shrugs. Wanting to get away from the attention, he turns and starts walking back to Forest’s snacks. He only gets a few steps though when he hears a “Wait!” and Forest suddenly lashes out from his spot under Harry’s shirt, hissing menacingly. Harry whirls around to see the boy snatching his hand back from where he had almost gripped Harry, both he and his parents startled, their wands out.

 **It’s okay, Forest,** Harry soothes, calming his swaying friend, getting a firm grip on him in case he tries to lunge at the boy again. Forest bares his fangs a moment longer to get his point across before he curls back around Harry’s neck, staying in sight. Harry lets him, running a reaffirming hand down his friend’s scales.

 **He was a threat, Harry hatchling** , he proclaims, eyeing the trio before them.

 **I don’t think he was trying to attack** , Harry says. He looks up to apologize to the boy for the fright, only to freeze at the awestruck looks the family is now giving him.

“You’re a parselmouth?” the boy’s father whispers. Harry looks up at him uncertainly, not liking that he’s instinctively cowed by the family’s presence. They all stand regally and look completely confident in their exorbitant robes. The boy has the same perfectly proportioned features as his father, but his pale blue eyes are clearly from his mother.

Forest presses his snout against Harry’s thumping neck. **It’s alright, Harry hatchling. There is something about them… I didn’t smell it before but… You can tell them the truth.**

Harry swallows before nodding to confirm the man’s question. Penetrative gray eyes widen before narrowing, his posture straightening, waist-long platinum hair falling down his chest. Harry doesn’t miss how he shifts to block more of the shop’s view of their section.

“I was unaware there were others in Britain besides…” the woman says, side-eyeing her husband.

“It is most curious….” The man nods, absently thumping his extravagant cane against the floor. “What is your name, young man?”

Harry opens his mouth to give his pseudonym only for Forest to interrupt him. **I think you should reveal who you are, hatchling.**

Harry’s eyes want to bug out. That’s the _last thing_ he wants to do! **Why?! They might not be as nice as you think.**

**Trussst me.**

Harry holds his breath, frustrated with his friend and fearful of the family’s reaction. When they keep on staring at him and Forest doesn’t change his mind, Harry squeezes his eyes closed, letting his features bleed back into their normal darker coloration. When he looks up with vivid green eyes, the trio once again gapes at him.

“ _Harry Potter?!”_ the man and boy strangle out whereas the woman emits a baffled, “ _You’re a metamorphmagus?!_ ”

Harry can feel the heat returning to his face and immediately replaces his disguise. A quick peek at the rest of the shop shows that no one else is looking their way.

“Yes,” he says, answering both questions.

The boy continues to mouth Harry’s name while staring at his forehead, but the man is frowning at his wife.

“Isn’t the metamorphmagus ability said to be solely a Black family trait?”

The woman grins, eyes bright with excitement. “It is. Heir Potter, do you know who Dorea Black is?”

Harry’s nose scrunches at being addressed by his formal title, but he nevertheless recalls the name from his lineage test. “She’s my grandmother. My dad’s mum.”

“Indeed,” the woman nods. “She was also my grandaunt.”

Harry’s eyes widen. Mind running through his family tree, he reasons out who this woman is. “Dorea Black’s brother was Pollux Black, who had Cygnus Black the Third, who married Druella Rosier, and they had three daughters... Oh! Are you Lady Narcissa Malfoy?”

The woman beams. “I am. This is my husband, Lucius, Lord Malfoy, and our son, Draco, Heir Malfoy.”

Harry smiles back, torn between pleased and intimidated. He has family (distant, but who cares?!), yet he recalls from his books how prominent the Malfoy family is, especially now that they’ve joined with the Blacks through marriage.

“Your names were on the genealogy tree the goblins did for me yesterday,” he admits, finally speaking up.

At this, the adults’ lips disappear. Sharing a glance with her husband, Lady Malfoy questions Harry. “Why did you have a lineage test completed? Surely you know of your ancestry?”

Harry shrugs and looks away, embarrassed. “I knew I had a mum and dad of course, but my aunt didn’t speak of anyone from her family or my dad’s.”

“Who is your aunt?” Lord Malfoy frowns. “I was unaware James Potter had any sisters.”

“He didn’t, I’ve been living with my mum’s sister and her husband.”

“Was she much younger than your mother? I do not recall a sister of hers attending Hogwarts while we were there.”

“Well, no, she’s not a witch,” Harry smirks, morbidly amused at the idea. “My aunt and uncle and cousin don’t have magic.”

The Malfoys look aghast. “You’ve been living with _muggles_?”

“Yes.” Harry says, not liking it any more than they do. Is their surprise more confirmation of Dumbledore spreading lies? “They’re who Dumbledore left me with after my parents were killed.”

“I don’t believe this! That crazy old coot!” Lord Malfoy seethes to his wife. She shoots him a look and smiles gently at Harry.

“Heir Potter, dear, I would like to speak to your aunt and uncle, are they close by?”

Harry shifts, avoiding eye contact. He’s about to make up a tale when Forest hisses at him. **Tell them you left, hatchling. They can help.**

**Are you sure?**

**Yesss. They do not smell of bad intentions.**

Harry bites his lip, reluctantly admitting the truth. “I ran away from my aunt and uncle’s. They don’t know I’m here. I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron until September.”

His words wind up the adults even more. “Why would you run away, darling?”

Again, Harry gives his answers to his toes. “They don’t like magic very much. When Hagrid came to bring me shopping, they weren’t very pleased.”

Lord Malfoy nearly sputters in indignation. “That _oaf_ was sent?!”

Ah, so Hagrid’s behavior wasn’t just a one-off thing. Lady Malfoy puts a calming hand on her husband’s forearm, and they proceed to have a silent conversation while Draco continues to goggle at Harry. Forest and the Adder watch all of them.

Eventually, Lady Malfoy smiles down at Harry. “Heir Potter, sweetheart, Lucius and I would like you to come stay with us until the start of term. Would you be alright with that?”

Harry’s head tilts against his will. He just met these people, why would they possibly want him in their home, family relation or not? Lady Malfoy seems to read his thoughts for she is quick to reassure him. “At least for tonight, so that we may speak some more and answer any questions you have. If you don’t want to stay with us for longer, we won’t make you, but Diagon Alley is not the safest of places for an eleven-year-old, especially not for yourself.”

Harry’s still not sure. “I don’t want to impose on you, Lady and Lord Malfoy.”

“Nonsense, we would love to have you,” she promises. “Perhaps Draco can even show you around the Quidditch pitch; all of his friends have been out of the country for some weeks and he’s been feeling quite stagnant without someone to fly with.”

Draco seems to be all for the idea and nods vigorously. At his eagerness (and the opportunity to see what Quidditch is like), Harry starts to relent. He’s still uncertain though, so he turns his head to silently request Forest’s thoughts.

**They smell honest, Harry hatchling. I think it will be good to visit their tree. Besidesss, theirs might smell better than the rotten tree you’re staying in now.**

Harry scoffs a laugh at his friend. Studying the Malfoys’ open expressions, Harry makes his decision.

“I would be honored to stay with you, Lady Malfoy,” he says with a low bow of his head to her then husband. “Lord Malfoy.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Malfoy says, her husband and Draco showing their enthusiasm with practiced smiles. “This was the last shop we needed to visit. May we join you at the Leaky Cauldron to retrieve your belongings?”

 **What if they see the dragon egg?** Harry frantically questions Forest, not wanting to get in trouble for having it. Or for Forest stealing it from Hagrid, even if Lord Malfoy doesn’t seem to like the giant very much.

 **Then they’ll help us get the little hatchling safely to their tree** , Forest says. **Honestly, hatchling, you’re worrying too much.**

 **You’re not the one who will be sent to jail for stealing and raising a dragon!** Harry realizes he’s being quite rude and gives the Malfoys an apologetic expression.

“My apologies, Lady Malfoy, I was asking Forest if he got everything he wanted from here. I would very much enjoy your company when retrieving my belongings.”

“Apology accepted, Heir Potter. Draco, be absolutely certain that is the serpent you want, you will be taking sole care of them.”

Draco looks down at the Adder for a moment and is studied in return. Harry feels better about his decision to go with the family when Draco asks him, “Harry, is she okay coming to live with us?”

 **I am** , the Adder replies, not needing Harry to translate.

Harry nods to Malfoy. “She is.”

“Then yes, I am certain, Mother, Father,” Draco confirms. “I will take care of her.”

“Then, Lucius, perhaps you can help the boys with the terrarium. I will let the attendant know we will be taking the Snowy Owl for Draco.”

“Of course, my dear.”

When she returns to the front of the shop, Harry feels a bit uncomfortable without her presence. Draco looks friendly enough, but he knows Lord Malfoy is watching him and is far more observant than Harry wants.

Nevertheless, he helps Draco and the Adder relax around each other until they’re both comfortable with her being wrapped around his shoulders, head peeking out of his robe’s collar. Lord Malfoy shrinks the terrarium and they meet Lady Malfoy at the register. Harry stands back to pay for Forest’s snacks on his own only to have Lady Malfoy levitate the packaged food out of his hands and on to the counter next to the owl treats.

Harry immediately tries to protest but is shut down by Lord Malfoy who insists as “it’s the least we could do”.

Harry thinks it’s more along the lines of being a bribe, but he won’t draw more attention to himself by arguing with them. After a sheepish smile to the amused attendant, it feels odd leaving the shop knowing that he’s part of a group now. Once outside, Lord Malfoy releases the Snowy Owl from her cage and tells her to fly to Malfoy Manor.

She hoots and takes off, swooping around them, brushing her feathers against Draco and – surprisingly – against Harry as well. Harry smothers his laughter when Forest and the Adder immediately snap and hiss in indignation. Draco is going to have an interesting time having his two pets fighting one another.

There’s not much conversation on the way to the Leaky Cauldron. Lady and Lord Malfoy are talking in low voices to each other while leading the way through the bustling crowd that seems to break apart before them. Harry and Draco follow, with the latter whispering and scratching his new friend.

“What room are you staying in, sweetheart?” Lady Malfoy asks when they pass through the Alley’s entrance into the Leaky Cauldron’s courtyard.

Harry understands why she’s asking and cuts them off before they can invite themselves to his room. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, Lady Malfoy, I just need to pack a few clothes back in my bag and I’ll be right down to return my key to Tom. I will be quick.”

“If you’re sure,” Lady Malfoy concedes, though her mouth is pinched in unhappiness.

“I am,” Harry nods, and because it feels like the polite thing to do, he says, “Thank you. I’ll return soon.”

Without removing his disguise, Harry slips back into the pub and skirts his way towards the staircase. He makes it without feeling any eyes on him and sighs in relief when he reaches his room. Preparing himself in case there are any surprises inside, Harry enters and closes the door behind him, exhaling a relieved sigh when all appears as he left it.

 **Will the egg be okay if I remove the shield and fire until we arrive at the Malfoy’s house?** He asks Forest, walking over to examine the sturdy shield and glowing contents.

 **It should be** , Forest responds, poking his head out to examine the egg as well. **Perhaps you should remove the fire but keep the shield. The little hatchling will be very warm, and we do not want to damage your pathetic human scales.**

 **No we do not** , Harry chuckles. It takes him a few minutes to get the flames to die out then to shrink the shield down, and by the end of it, Harry’s sweaty from the strain and worrying that one of the Malfoys will come to investigate what’s taking him so long.

Happy with the results, Harry rushes around to stuff his opened clothes back into his daypack, the shielded egg and box nested in the middle of it all when he’s done. He puts his books on top just in case anyone tries to peek inside his bag and looks around the room and loo in case he missed something.

When Forest concurs that he has everything, Harry rushes back downstairs with the key, glad that he meets no one in the hallways. He barely remembers to return to his normal appearance, pulling his hood up before he’s in view of the pub.

He spots the Malfoys standing near the fireplace and vaguely questions why they chose there of all spots. The thought goes to the back hob when he approaches Tom at the bar.

“Hello, Tom, sir,” Harry says quietly, not wanting the two men sitting hunched over their drinks a few seats away to hear him.

“Mr. Po--!” Thankfully, he notices Harry’s shushing gesture in time and doesn’t finish announcing Harry’s name to the whole pub. He lowers his voice, smiling with understanding. “Mr. Potter. Everything alright?”

Harry gives a small smile in return. “Yes, thank you, sir, as a matter of fact, I ran in to someone who has invited me to stay with them for most likely the remaining of the summer. I wanted to return the room key and thank you for everything.”

Tom looks curiously upset but relieved at Harry’s news. He accepts the key Harry hands him, but not without pausing to hold his gaze with a serious expression. “You will be safe with these people, Mr. Potter?”

Warmth flickers over Harry’s heart. Tom is a good man, he decides. “Yes, sir. I believe so.”

“Alright then,” Tom says slowly before raising a brow expectantly. “But if you need help…”

Harry gives a sincere grin. “I’ll come to you.”

“Good lad,” Tom smiles, tapping the key against the counter before storing it in his apron pocket. “That will be two Galleons, young man.”

Harry wants to shake his head at Tom’s generosity, he thinks it should be at least four Galleons considering he’s stayed here the span of two days. Just to spite the man – and because he deserves it – Harry removes fourteen Galleons from his vault pouch. With a cheeky, “Have a great evening, Tom, tell Jim I said good-bye,” Harry plops the coins on to the counter and speeds away before Tom can throw them back at him.

He does hear a “Mister—!” call after him, but whatever refusal the barman has to say is suddenly silenced when Harry gets within two meters of the Malfoys and fireplaces.

Perplexed, he falters, looking up at the Malfoys when it’s obvious all other sounds from the pub have been silenced as well. A spell?

Lord Malfoy confirms his theory. “It’s a privacy ward,” he explains. “So that other people can’t hear you say your floo destination.”

There’s that word again. “I’m sorry, floo?”

Draco looks aghast that Harry’s never heard of it, which makes him annoyed and wanting to curse Dumbledore even more.

Lady Malfoy seems to be more understanding and puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder, steering him in front of the fireplace. “Not to worry, darling. Floo powder is a way for wizards to travel almost instantaneously. You take a pinch of it,” she demonstrates by retrieving some of the gray ash from a pot on the fireplace. “Throw it in the fire, step into the green flames, and say – very clearly – your destination. I’ll demonstrate, shall I?”

Harry allows her to do so, watching in amazement as she stands completely unharmed in the flames and swirls into nothing after proclaiming “Malfoy Manor!”

Harry looks wide-eyed at Lord Malfoy when the man holds out a pinch of the powder to Harry. “Remember to speak clearly, Heir Potter.”

Harry gulps but nods, bolstered by both Draco’s encouraging smile. He takes a deep breath and after feeling Forest coil tighter around him, throws the floo powder down, stepping into the flames. The heat tickles and Harry smiles when he declares “Malfoy Manor”. He grins even wider when the last thing he sees of the Leaky Cauldron is Tom just beyond the privacy ward giving him a defeated, exasperated shake of the head, coins in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza.  
> So.
> 
> What did you think of his trip down Knockturn Alley? Harry got his second wand and he intends to use it!  
> In case you're curious, here are the wandlore details for his new wand:
> 
> Rougarou Hair: The hair of the rougarou was used as a wand core by the American wandmaker Violetta Beauvais. Rougarou hair was rumoured to have an affinity for Dark magic, like vampires to blood.  
> Horned Serpent Horn: This wand core was used by Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry founders Isolt Sayre. The wands made from this core were exceptionally powerful. They were also sensitive to Parseltongue and warn its owner of danger by emitting a low musical tone.  
> Vine: Vine wands are among the less common types, and I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best.
> 
> If you guessed the 'woman' that attacked Harry was a Hag, you were right! I got the ideas for her and everything in Knockturn (except the wandmaker) from: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Dark_Arts and https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Knockturn_Alley 
> 
> We've met the some of the Weasleys! And Susan and Hannah! Oh, and Hermione.  
> How do we feel about all of them?  
> Also, I felt like the movies did Tom the barman dirty by turning him from a nice, dumpy guy into the Hunchback of Notre Dame, so I made them two separate people and business partners considering the Leaky Cauldron is a busy pub and an Inn.
> 
> That poor kitten, what ever will happen to it, I wonder?  
> If you're curious about the kinds of snakes I mentioned, check them out: https://www.gertjanverspui.com/eu-species-list/reptiles-of-europe/snakes/ 
> 
> A lot of you were way ahead of me and were absolutely right: Harry's going to stay with the Malfoys! Are they going to discover all of his secrets?
> 
> We'll find out soon! One more chapter then we're off to Hogwarts!
> 
> Stay safe and sane, everyone.


	6. Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns more about the Malfoys and the wizarding world.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Heir Potter.”

Harry just barely manages to keep his mouth closed once he finally gets up from where he’d stumbled on to the marble floor.

No, No. 4 Privet Drive had most certainly _not_ been the mansion Ronald and Moribund’s wandmaker had assumed Harry resided in.

Still dizzy from travelling by floo, Harry has a hard time fathoming how large the room they stand in truly is. Harry bets more than two houses on Privet Drive combined could fit inside, and he can’t even see the other end of the hall! Although, that could just be because of his shoddy eyesight.

 **Now _this_ is a proper tree**, Forest decides, peeking out from Harry’s collar.

Two magnificent chandeliers hang from an intricately carved ceiling that curves down stone walls until varnished wood hugs the walls on either side of the casement windows letting late-morning sunlight illuminate the long wood table spanning nearly half the room.

A roar and rush of heat has Harry turning around to see Draco stepping out of the blazing fireplace, brushing remnants of ash of robes quite similar to Harry’s, his eyes the only thing revealing just how worried he is for the Adder around his shoulder’s wellbeing.

Sure that she’s okay, Draco looks Harry’s disheveled appearance over. He smirks and teases, “Rough trip?”

Harry doesn’t have time to feel indignant before Lady Malfoy steps in. “Many children and adults find it difficult to maintain their footing after traveling through the floo network for the first time. As I recall, Draco, you were quite sick to your stomach your first time.”

“I was five,” Draco grumbles, moving out of the way in time for his father to step through.

Lord Malfoy continues to look imperious even as he bows his head to avoid the fireplace’s detailed overhang. Harry holds himself still when the man’s steel orbs land on him. “Is there a reason a certain barman tried to force a handful of Galleons on me just now, Heir Potter?”

Harry does his best to quell a mischievous smile. “I may have left one or two extras when paying for my room.”

Lord Malfoy hums after another moment of studying him before he grazes Draco’s head with a cupped hand then kisses his wife on the cheek. “I’ll be in my office, Narcissa.”

Harry returns his nod when the man says “Heir Potter” in farewell before sweeping away and around the corner.

“Why don’t we get you all settled in your room, Heir Potter dear,” Lady Malfoy segues, placing a feather-light hand on Harry’s shoulder to steer him in the opposite direction of where Lucius disappeared. “Then Draco can give you a tour before lunch. I believe the room across from yours will do, Draco, don’t you think?”

“Yes, mother,” Draco agrees, following her and Harry towards a magnificent stone staircase curving up to the next level of the manor. “It may not be as big as you’re used to, Harry…”

Forest hisses scathing insults about the Dursley’s and the cupboard under the stairs, but Harry nearly chokes in amused disbelief. “Don’t worry, Draco, if it’s a closet, I’ll still be happy.”

Draco and Lady Malfoy say nothing about that, even if they do give him an odd look.

They stride down a rug covered hallway, Harry’s attention drawn to the portraits and paintings spaced out on walls. When one portrait of a silver-haired man suddenly huffs and turns away from Harry’s curious gaze, the boy nearly leaps out of his skin before remembering that, right, art in the wizarding world is basically alive.

The trio eventually comes to a stop in front of one door, Lady Malfoy pushing it open for Harry to enter first. He doesn’t make it much further than the entrance though, too enthralled is he by the extravagance of the room.

Coming up next to him, Draco’s shoulders roll back in pride. “Yes, it is quite impressive isn’t it? My room is similar, but Mother and Father’s suite is much larger.”

That makes sense, Dudley’s rooms and the guest room were smaller than his aunt and uncle’s. Harry nods absently, still blinking at his new, generously furnished yet spacious accommodations.

“Lunch will be served in one hour. I think we’ll eat on the terrace today, what do you think? Draco, I’m sure you can show Harry how to get there once you’re done?”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco readily agrees.

Harry manages to speak up before she can walk away. “Thank you very much, Lady Malfoy”

Yes, this woman is much too perceptive, for there is sad suspicion ghosting the smile she gives him. “You’re quite welcome, sweetheart. Let a house elf know if you need anything.”

Harry smiles gratefully, again questioning the role of house elves in the wizarding world.

Alone with Draco, Harry is comfortable enough to set his daypack down, carefully laying it on the four-poster bed. Now, he’s faced with the dilemma of bringing out the egg and keeping it warm without the Malfoys finding out.

“Do you mind if I change clothes before you show me around?” he fibs on the spot. “I’ll just take a minute.”

“Sure,” Draco says, running a hand over the Adder while strolling back into the hallway. “I will be out here.”

When the door closes, Forest arches up, watching Harry ease the egg out of his bag.

 **Where should I keep it?** He asks Forest, looking the shield and egg over for any signs of damage.

**Perhaps the sssmelly room or the wardrobe.**

Harry thinks it over. The room is impeccably clean, not a speck of dust to be found. The bathroom is likely in a similar state and Harry doesn’t think someone as proper as Lady Malfoy or Lord Malfoy take the time every day to magic the room clean. Maybe the house elves keep everything tidy? He doesn’t want them to spot the egg either, though, and they most certainly would if they cleaned the bathroom.

They’re less likely to go in the wardrobe.

He walks over to the impressive wardrobe, relieved to find its base vacant. He sets the egg down and repeats the heating process until the egg is glowing and he’s certain the wardrobe’s in no danger of burning.

After another moment of thought, he decides to leave Ollivander’s wand behind as well, thinking if he needs to use magic – although he doesn’t know any actual spells at this point, so it might be useless – it’s better if the Ministry doesn’t find out about it and trace him here to Malfoy Manor.

Rushing to change his shirt and robe for the sake of not getting caught out in his lie, Harry runs an ineffective hand through his frazzled hair and joins Draco in the hallway.

“That’s my room,” Draco says, pointing at the door that is across and a few meters down from Harry’s. He gestures at several other closed rooms they walk. “These are several more guest rooms, but they are rarely used. We’re in the west wing. Mother and Father’s rooms are down there,” he points down the corridor past the staircase they came up before. “My old room is down there too, but I’ve since moved into the Heir room. Would you like to see the garden?”

Harry easily agrees and follows Draco back down to the main floor and through a high-ceilinged corridor that goes on and on, doors and entryways branching off to reveal parlors, drawing rooms, portraits room, two ballrooms, separate corridors, and more until they take a turn and the space opens up to a greenhouse facing the entire back of the estate.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, overwhelmed with the sheer expanse of the land surrounding Malfoy Manor. He can’t really see all the details, but he can feel the relaxed and unpolluted air. It’s so foreign and tantalizing that he nearly sneezes.

Draco leads him down a path to a garden filled with roses and other beautiful plants organized in a swirling pattern around a gazebo in the middle. Harry thinks of his attempts to keep the Dursley’s flowers blooming during the late summer and decides that magic must be responsible for keeping these flowers so lively. He enjoys their beauty anyway.

“The stables and lake are to the south there,” Draco indicates as they exit the garden and walk a ways across the expanse of grass. Harry looks in that direction just to be polite, following Draco’s finger when it turns to the west. “Over there is the quidditch pitch. It’s not the same size as the professional stadiums, but Father said it’s as large as Hogwarts’s own.”

“Are you going to play for your House team?” Harry asks, already having a good idea of the answer.

“I’m going to be the best seeker Slytherin’s ever seen,” Draco announces, entirely too smug for someone not even sorted into the House yet.

Harry realizes Draco has the same confidence in his sorting placement as Ronald did. “Has everyone in your family been in Slytherin?”

“There hasn’t been a Malfoy or Black that hasn’t been in Slytherin,” Draco boasts before a thought crinkles his nose. “Except for Cousins Nymphadora Tonks and Sirius Black, that is. She was in Hufflepuff, graduated last year. Don't think she counts though, she and Aunt Andromeda are all but disowned. Black was a Gryffindor.”

Harry tucks that useful detail away with everything else he knows about his godfather before steering the conversation back to their tour. “What animals do you have in the stables?”

“A few Abraxans, Alicorns, Aethonan, Granian, a hippogriff that Mother’s rehabilitating after a smuggler broke its wing, and a handful of non-magical horses,” Draco drawls as if having so many magnificent animals is no big deal. “There’s also Father’s albino peacocks strutting around the grounds somewhere. They’re the symbol for the Malfoy family. I’m sure you’ll come across them if you stay with us. Just don’t expect me to stick around if they do, the bird brains hate me.”

Harry snorts a little at Draco’s disgruntlement, consequently almost overwhelmed with the need to go run and say hi to all the animals. If they are anywhere near as great as Forest, he wants to meet all of them.

“Come, I’ll show you the rest of the manor on our way to the terrace.”

Harry joins Draco as he treads through the opposite side of the extravagant manor, pointing out well-known Malfoys in their portraits, priceless artifacts displayed proudly, a billiards room, and another drawing room. Harry and Forest both turn when they sense a concentration of magic swirling around three doors, two being on one side of the hallway.

Draco sees where he’s looking. “Those are the dueling room and potion lab. They’re warded all the time, so don’t bother trying to go in without an adult. Father’s study is warded too.”

Harry follows Draco’s gesture to the other warded door. Remembering times when Aunt Petunia whacked his head for breathing too loud in her vicinity while she was ‘working’, Harry suddenly becomes acutely aware of how much noise he’s making as they pass Lord Malfoy’s study. He feels silly when Draco’s Adder picks up on his caution and hisses a quiet laugh, but Forest makes him feel better when he rears up and flashes his fangs in Harry’s defense.

The rest of Harry’s carefulness and embarrassment go out the manor when Draco stops in front of huge, open double doors.

“And this is the library,” Draco says, smirking at Harry’s awed face.

 **Well** , Forest laughs. **I suppose we have our answer whether we’re going to stay or not.**

Harry’s too floored to flick Forest for his teasing.

 **The Malfoys are a Most Noble and Most Ancient family, Forest, think of all the magic and secrets tucked away in here!** Harry hisses, stepping further into the room, spinning in a slow circle when he notices there are even stocked bookshelves on the wall above the doors.

 **You already have a library of your own** , Forest snarks, swishing his tail. **Do calm down, hatchling, if Blondie’s head gets any bigger, he’s going to float away.**

Harry looks at Malfoy and breaks out of his amazed stupor just enough to smother his laughter at Draco’s obnoxiously smug look. “It’s amazing,” he eventually says.

“It is, isn’t it?” Draco smirks. “Father said it’s one of the largest collections in Britain. Should I expect to find you tucked away here most days?”

“Maybe.”

 **He’s got you pegged, hatchling,** Forest chuckles.

Draco rolls his eyes, but it’s missing the usual derisiveness Harry expects from people discovering Harry’s love for books. “You can disappear later, for now, we’re expected.”

Despite Harry knowing this, he can’t help giving a longing look at the many bookshelves he can just barely see.

He notices a tug in his chest as well that he had initially registered as excitement. When he joins Draco in the hallway, though, the feeling snaps with an almost disappointed sigh.

He absently rubs the spot above his heart, nodding when Draco points to a set of marble stairs carving down to the lower level of the mansion. He declares them off limits.

“Boys,” Lady Malfoy greets when they pass through a bright hall that leads to the open doors of the window framed terrace.

Harry immediately freezes because it finally registers: the Malfoys want to eat a meal together. With him. At the table. Eating.

He can’t remember _ever_ eating at a table with other people. This morning’s scone at the tea shop had been the first time in a _very_ long time he had eaten at a table, and that was by himself. And even then, the set up was nothing like this!

“You can sit next to me, Harry.”

No, no he can _not._ Harry hopes Lady Malfoy and Draco don’t notice how his throat won’t function properly and his center of gravity has gone off somewhere in outer space. His eyes fall to the place settings at the table and of course he knows people use forks, knives, and spoons to eat, but why are there _so many_ next to each plate, and two different cups, all made from nice glassware the Dursleys only dreamed of having—

Someone’s face is close to his.

“You look rather pale, dear, are you quite alright?”

Yup, they definitely noticed. Clearing his throat, the sound coming out far too throttled, Harry blinks excessively and Lady Malfoy straightens up, taking a step back. _He can’t let them know! They can’t know how much a freak he is._

“Fine! Fine. I’m fine. Thank you, I’m fine, sorry, ma’am, Lady Malfoy, ma’am. I’ll sit down now.”

 **The speaker is acting odd** , the Adder speaks up, narrowing her gaze at Harry and Forest as the boy makes uncoordinated, jolting movements until he’s finally sitting next to Draco.

Forest flicks his tongue back at her, sensing Harry is far too anxious to reply. **He is fine** , is all Forest says.

Lord Malfoy’s entry provides a distraction for his family and Harry from his internal screaming.

“The terrace was a wonderful choice, Cissa,” Lord Malfoy says in greeting, kissing his wife on the cheek before sitting next to her, across from Draco. He gives the boys a smile which Harry notices looks much warmer than the miniscule ones the man gave when they had all been in Diagon Alley. “Did you two make it out to the grounds?”

“Yes, Father,” Draco nods.

Further inquiries are halted when bowls of salad suddenly appear on top of the plates before them, startling Harry. The Malfoys on the other hand find the appearance completely normal and Harry wonders which one of them summoned the food. Spying on the others from under his fringe, Harry takes up the outermost fork in his place setting and tries to configure it in his trembling hand around the metal as the others do. His first bite doesn’t end up in his lap, so he thinks perhaps he can manage silverware after all; especially if it means he can eat more delicious foods that positively burst with flavor in his mouth like his salad is.

After a couple peaceful minutes where Harry steadfastly ignores how peculiar the situation feels, Lady Malfoy wipes her food-free mouth with her napkin and looks up at Harry and Draco.

“I trust Draco pointed out all the important rooms in the manor?”

“He did,” Harry says, making sure to copy her motion and wipe his mouth and finish chewing before speaking. Dudley always spoke with his mouth open and it repulsed Harry almost enough to erase his painful appetite each time. “Your home is very beautiful.”

“Turns out, we needn’t have bothered giving Harry his own room, Mother,” Draco quips, ignoring how Harry immediately catches on and glares daggers. “A pillow and blanket in the library would have sufficed.”

“Oh?” she prompts, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

“You have a lot of books,” Harry says contritely, wishing his embarrassed flush away.

Lord Malfoy looks smug and Lady Malfoy’s laugh is a crisp fall breeze. “I see. Never be ashamed of your pursuit for knowledge, Heir Potter. Coincidentally, does that mean we can expect your placement in the House of Ravens come September?”

Harry gives a wry smile. “Maybe. I want to know as much as I can. I have so much to catch up on and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“That is a very wise outlook to have,” she approves. “Many children new to our world do not make the same effort to assimilate.”

“What does ‘assimilate’ mean?”

“To join or become a part of.”

Harry chews on this for a moment. “There was a muggleborn girl I met in Magical Menagerie. She thought the wizarding world was ‘outdated’ and should change so that people like her – _like me_ – could fit better.”

“That is a common, and unfortunately _encouraged_ , mentality in recent times.”

“I disagree with it,” Harry frowns, toying with his fork. “You don’t move to another country and demand they learn your language so that you can get around better. It doesn’t make _sense_.”

Lord Malfoy eyes him. “It is bolstering to hear you say that, Heir Potter. Tell us, what do you know of the magical world’s history?”

“Very little outside what was written in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“Then you may recall that the four Hogwarts founders established the school as a safe place from the muggles who persecuted those with magical abilities, often burning children at the stake for suspected witchcraft.” He nods morbidly when Harry can’t restrain a horrified grimace. “We have grown isolated from the muggle world at large for our own protection. Because of fear.”

Connections and theories snap in Harry’s mind. “You believe if muggles found out about us, they would hurt us again? Hunt us?”

The Malfoys’ eyes sear into him, trying to draw out all of Harry’s thoughts.

“There are those in our world who think the muggles reformed; they have faith in a future harmonious existence. Others, however, do not feel the same. Two wars have been fought in recent times over the disagreement. You may have heard of Gellert Grindelwald. He and his followers sought to secure our safety by establishing a global totalitarian regime over the muggles. His acolytes did not care for muggle lives and did more harm than good in their siege for power. Their actions did in fact reveal magic to the muggles in New York before the famed Newt Scamander coordinated a mass memory-wipe on the city.”

Harry nods slowly, digesting the information. “I don’t think killing muggles like that Grinde-guy did is the right thing to do. It is unfair and foolish.”

“Our sentiments exactly,” Lord Malfoy nods. “It is a war we would not win.”

The man leans back as he speaks, sweeping his eyes over all of their empty – or in Harry’s case, nearly empty – plates and says “Dobby!” which Harry thinks might be a word for a spell because in the next moment, the salads are gone, replaced with a seared chicken breast and an array of vegetables before each person. Harry watches Draco tuck in, marveling on the fact the boy is still hungry even though he’s nowhere near as huge as Dudley. Harry already feels stuffed from the salad.

“I’m not sure it would be much of a war anyway,” Harry remarks after a few quiet moments of the Malfoys eating. He worries at his lip, thinking back to news stories he’d heard on the telly through the slats in his cupboard door. “The muggles have these bombs that can destroy entire cities at once. And cameras that let them see and record anyone and everything they look at.”

The Malfoys share alarmed looks. “We had heard some speculations,” Lady Malfoy murmurs. “But the ministry has devolved into pandering muggles and muggleborns instead of keeping the magical world aware of what’s happening outside our attention.”

Harry’s eyes narrow minutely. “What rules are put in place to keep muggles from noticing us so far? I’m sure muggleborn kids do magic in front of their families or others accidentally. And some adult wizards _must_ have performed magic in front of muggles at some point. Are their memories taken?”

Again, the Malfoys stare at him before Lady Malfoy speaks carefully. “If magic is performed in front of a muggle, the Ministry is made aware and officials are sent to Obliviate the witnesses to remove the event from their memory, yes. The only special cases are with the families of muggleborn children. Accidental magic is ignored until they are made aware of their child’s abilities when they are invited to attend Hogwarts or one of the other magical schools.”

Harry frowns. “But… I’ve been doing accidental magic for _years_ and the only reason my relatives didn’t go blabbing was because they didn’t want to admit they had something so ‘abnormal’ under their roof. How have all these muggle parents not gone to the news press with the story that their child has ‘abilities’?”

“We have found that muggles can be quite… odd. While accidental magic is a common occurrence, it mostly surfaces as small, innocuous incidents, such as breaking glass or sending something flying across the room. Perhaps because they do not want to believe, or they _can’t_ believe what their eyes are telling them, they easily explain it away. The incidents are written off as strange accidents and it is not until a professor visits them that they have a definite answer to the peculiarities.”

“Alright,” Harry says, recalling how his appearance on the school roof and the teacher’s hair turning blue were brushed off as Harry’s usual troublemaking tendencies. “You said two wars. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the second. In the decade before we were born,” he adds, looking over at Draco who is watching the exchange intently.

“They were,” Lord Malfoy confirms. Harry notices the slight flinching in the man’s left fist when Harry said Voldemort’s name, almost as if he was in pain.

“The goblins said it’s unknown what happened to him after he tried to kill me,” Harry goes on, watching the adults for any signs that they know more than they’re telling. “Does anyone know why he killed my parents and tried to kill me in the first place? Why we had to go under the Fidelius charm?”

Harry knows he’s not imagining the color bleeding out of the Malfoys’ already pale faces. Around his neck, Forest shifts, tongue flickering.

“Your parents were on what was considered the ‘Light’ side of the war,” Lady Malfoy says delicately, carefully. “They and others fought under Dumbledore’s orders, in a vigilante group called the Order of the Phoenix that opposed the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters; they wanted to keep our world connected to the muggles thinking no harm in doing so. The battles between the two sides very often resulted in death- of those involved and many bystanders.”

“My parents fought… even when they knew I was on the way?”

“They were pregnant with you when the news spread of their status as the Dark Lord’s targets, along with the Longbottom family,” she details. “Before then, your father was a new Auror, one of the Ministry’s law enforcement officers, and your mother was pursuing a Charms Mastery. It is believed that they went underground as soon as they heard of the increased danger, and only let Sirius Black, as their secret keeper, and whomever they trusted to cast the Fidelius Charm know their whereabouts. No one had seen them until the night…”

She trails off, looking almost apologetic, because right— until the night Harry’s life became Hell and a story for the wizarding world.

So. His dad had been like the Bobbies? And come to think of it, Mr. Ollivander had mentioned his mother’s wand was excellent for charmswork, hadn’t he? What does one do with a Charms Mastery? He pushes that curiosity aside to investigate later, focusing his thoughts back on his parents’ actions. “They stayed though? In Britain?”

The Malfoys look decidedly confused. “Do you not know where you were born, Heir Potter?”

“No,” Harry admits, craving whatever new information they can give him.

“ _That_ night’s events took place in the house you were presumably born in: a Potter family cottage in the village of Godric’s Hallow here in England. The house is currently hidden from muggles; however, the property and the memorial statue in the graveyard, their final resting place, are visible to the wizarding world.”

“Oh,” Harry says, swallowing harshly. “That is good to know.”

“If you’d like, perhaps we can visit there before you go off to Hogwarts,” she offers and next to Harry, Draco shifts, likely uncomfortable with the idea.

Harry smiles faintly, unsure how he feels about the offer either. He wants to know yet facing the home and parents he once had… he can’t decide right now. Besides, they indirectly addressed his question: no, his parents did not leave the country as soon as it became clear they had Voldemort’s personal attention. Instead, they stayed well within his reach and in the heart of the war. He doesn’t like how he feels about that.

The Malfoys interpret his lack of response correctly and don’t push the subject. Harry connects another dot.

“You said the Longbottoms. I think I ran into Neville Longbottom with his gran in Diagon. And Master Griphook said Mrs. Longbottom is in medical care.”

The warm sunlight entering the terrace is futile against the Malfoys’ abrupt plummet in mood. Harry stills, watching them carefully.

“Yes,” Lord Malfoy eventually says. “Heir Longbottom was unharmed and his parents are alive.”

Harry tilts his head in a silent _‘but?’_

Lady Malfoy clears her throat, evenly meeting Harry’s gaze despite her normally composed self being visibly adrift. “The day after your parents’ passing and the Dark Lord’s defeat, several enraged Death Eaters continued his last orders and attacked the Longbottom family. They all survived. However… while bodily unharmed, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom are no longer of sane mind. Due to being held under a torture curse for a despicably long time, their minds fractured under the strain. They are alive, but reside in St. Mungo’s hospital, and will remain there until they die. There is no cure for the damage done to their minds. Heir Longbottom has been raised by his grandmother, the restored Lady Longbottom. There have been rumors saying the Longbottom family thought the poor boy a squib for many years, though it appears he will be attending with you two come September after all. It is quite fortunate; the Longbottom family is well-respected in our world. Why, Heir Longbottom is distantly related to you as well, through both Black and Potter lineage.”

Harry ponders this, considering what horrible things happened to Neville and how that possibly could have been Harry and his parents if Voldemort had gone after the Longbottoms first. Would Neville have been the one to defeat Voldemort? “Why did Voldemort attack two pureblood Lords and their families? Even if they were opposed to him, that seems like a big blow against the wizarding world.”

Again, Lord Malfoy’s arm twitches and he shifts ever so slightly in his seat. “The Dark Lord began gathering his followers some twenty years ago. They were utterly devoted to the brilliant and powerful man with revolutionary ideas. Nobody knows why, but he began to… _deteriorate_ over the years. Some say he delved too deep into Dark magic and it festered— rotting his mind, body, and soul. Others say he was cursed by the Light and Dumbledore to go insane. Around the time you were born, he was no longer the powerful wizard he used to be. So, whatever the reasoning behind his decline… Well,” he says, casting a glance at his thin-lipped wife before turning back to Harry with a tilt to his brow. “Let’s just say that except for his most bloodthirsty followers, it was a great relief when you defeated him.”

“I see,” Harry says, because he’s not sure what else is an appropriate response. His head tilts. “Can Dark magic really do that? Hurt you enough to make you insane?”

Both adults and even Draco nod solemnly. “It can,” Lady Malfoy answers. “There are some things Man and Magic should never meddle with.”

“Necromancy for instance,” Lord Malfoy adds, assessing Harry’s reactions. “Once one crosses the barrier into the next life, they should not return. The majority of Dark magic however, does not go against nature. In fact, it is the wilder side of Magic, more in tune with our emotions and environment than Light magic’s practiced motions, words, and use of focus items such as wands. For that reason, it is more difficult to control and regulate, hence its banishment from educational and personal use.”

Harry tucks that away, knowing it will weigh heavy on his mind when he starts to practice certain spells. Although, the magic he’s done so far sounds a bit Dark considering he used his desperation and intent to direct his magic. He’ll have to look up the specific differences between the two to be sure.

Drinking a few gulps of water, Harry then thinks over all the new revelations and how the Malfoys have worded the information. They referred to his parents and the Light side as ‘them’, not ‘us’ like he’d think they would if they were friends and allies. So, they were neutral or on Voldemort’s side. Except, judging by the fear but respect in their voices when they talk about Voldemort and their subtle enthusiasm for keeping the muggles separate, Harry thinks he knows where his newfound family stood in the war.

 **You’re sure we can trust them?** He whispers to Forest, trying not to let his anxiety show for the Malfoys to see.

Forest’s tongue flicks against his ear. **Yesss. I do not think I am wrong about them.**

Harry doesn’t visibly nod, instead internally accepting his friend’s senses- they haven’t been wrong yet. He manages a couple bites of chicken, feeling bad for wasting such yummy food. Noticing how Draco sets his knife and fork together on his empty plate before sitting back, Harry does the same and a moment later, both plates are gone.

He feels eyes on him and looks up to see the adults watching him. “Was the food not to your liking, Heir Potter?”

Harry flounders at Lady Malfoy’s change in topic and neutrally stated question. Hearing in the back of his mind his aunt and uncle calling him an ungrateful brat, Harry despairs that he’s already offended the Malfoys. “No! No, I mean yes! It was delicious! Thank you very much. I had a late breakfast. I wasn’t super hungry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude…”

Something seems to loosen in her shoulders and Harry thinks he sees Draco smothering a laugh.

“Understandable, Heir Potter, nothing to apologize for,” she waves off, also setting her knife and fork together, not blinking when the plate vanishes. Instead, she looks over Harry with an assessing gaze. “Now, I know Draco mentioned you’re quite taken with our library, but to be certain, might we be enjoying your company for the rest of the summer?”

Harry shifts, weighing his options. He could go back to the Leaky Cauldron, spending his days going through the shops again and reading the books he bought. He’d have to hide his appearance while always being on alert around so many strangers and in such a vulnerable position. Or, he could stay here with his relatives in a relatively secure place with so many books and animals he can meet and people who know everything he needs to even though they were likely his parents’ enemies.

After careful deliberation, Harry eventually gives them a firm nod, smiling when their expressions brighten.

“Then it’s settled. After lunch, Draco, why don’t you help Heir Potter unpack?”

“Yes, mother. May we be excused, please?”

“You may. Heir Potter, dear, if you need anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask.”

Harry feels warmth creep through him and he fumbles a bit before finally voicing something that’s been bothering him. “Lady Malfoy? Lord Malfoy? There is one thing… I think I’d like it if you’d call me Harry. Instead of Heir Potter. It’s a bit of a mouthful… Is that alright?”

If he had blinked, he would have missed the amusement flickering through their pale eyes. Lord Malfoy nods in acquiescence though, and Lady Malfoy gives him an indulgent smile.

“It would be our pleasure. Harry.”

***

“You purchased all of this by yourself?” Draco asks, lounging on the room’s vanity stool and watching Harry sort his clothes and books.

“Yes,” Harry shrugs, though secretly he’s pleased with someone else’s approval of his job well done. “Why?”

“No reason. You’re quite resourceful for someone raised by muggles.”

Harry’s good mood sours. “I never fit in much with them.”

“I should hope not,” Draco says, chin lifting. “They are far beneath you.”

Harry’s not sure about that. Some muggles are way smarter than him and better in other ways, but he doesn’t want to annoy Draco, so he doesn’t deny it. “I probably missed some things anyway. It was my first-time going shopping.”

“What?” The blonde snorts only to become flabbergasted when he reads the truth behind the statement. “Wait, e _ver?_ ”

Harry shrugs, refusing to show his embarrassment at the fact that yes, until yesterday, his bubble in the world consisted of his school and Little Whinging.

Draco almost looks personally offended. “I’ll ask Mother to take us shopping then. She’s friends with practically every shop owner in Diagon and any fashion designer from here to China. Mother and Father will get you anything you want, just ask.”

Draco’s boasting a bit, but Harry finds it doesn’t bother him like it would if Dudley was bragging. In fact, Harry thinks it’s kind of nice. He says as much. “That’s nice of you to offer, Draco. I can buy anything I forgot for myself, though. Your parents are already letting me stay here, I don’t want to take any more from them.”

“Look around, Harry,” Draco laughs, stretching his arms out with a wide grin. “We have Galleons to spare. Father is a genius politician and businessman, just like most Malfoys before him, and Mother could make a fortune being a Healer if she wanted to work full-time.”

“Is a Healer like a doctor?” Harry asks, getting on his knees to put his new shoe boxes in a row under his bed.

“If you mean they help sick and hurt people, then yes.”

Harry nods, adjusting his glasses from where they’d slipped down his nose. He blinks. “Can Healers fix your eyes? I didn’t see anyone with glasses when I was in the Alley.”

“Well of course you didn’t, glasses are for muggles,” Draco scoffs. “You don’t need a Healer for your eyesight, there’s a potion that makes it perfect. It’s quite expensive, but it’s available.”

Draco smirks, amused at how excited Harry suddenly looks.

“What about your ears? Or teeth? What if your leg gets cut off?”

“Limbs can’t be grown back, but for pretty much anything else, a spell or potion has been invented to fix it. Oh, injuries from some Dark magics can’t be healed either. Like from a werewolf.”

“Werewolves are real?” Harry asks, bringing one stack of his sorted books over to the room’s desk.

“Of course,” Draco says, incredulous until he seems to remember how new Harry is to all of this, so he softens the blow. “Majority of the time, they act and look normal. It’s only during the full moon that they turn into their wolf form and are dangerous. My godfather created the Wolfsbane Potion, which allows them to keep their human mind during the night; otherwise, they turn into bloodthirsty beasts. It’s why the Ministry doesn’t like them very much. There are laws prohibiting them from having most jobs or taking care of children. Father said it’s why werewolves sided with the Dark Lord during the war.”

Harry frowns. Those people aren’t allowed to have families or jobs because of something that happens only once a month? That’s not very fair. He looks over to the bed’s pillows where Forest is curled up next to Draco’s Adder. **Have you ever met a werewolf?**

 **As a wolf, just once,** Forest hisses lazily. **But we passed two in the light street and four in the dark one.**

Harry gapes at him **We did?! How do you know?**

 **They smell of dog** , Forest replies before tucking his head back under his coils.

“What?” Draco asks at Harry’s surprised look.

“Forest said we passed a couple werewolves when we were walking around Diagon,” Harry explains, leaving out the ones in Knockturn. Even though he’s certain the Malfoys have Dark tendencies, he’s not sure he wants them to know about his little adventure. “I had no clue, but apparently they smell like dog.”

Draco snorts, the sound somehow dainty. “Like I said, they act and look normal unless it’s their time of the month.”

Harry barks a quick laugh, remembering the times Aunt Petunia scared even Uncle Vernon during what he called ‘her time of the month’. “Are werewolves Dark creatures?”

“They are,” Draco confirms, eyeing Harry. “How’d you know about Dark creatures?”

Again, he can’t very well tell Draco he learned about them while purchasing his illegal second wand, so instead he fibs what he hopes is a reasonable excuse. “One of the books I got mentioned them.”

“Mm. Yes, werewolves become quite physically strong after they’re bitten; their magic gets a boost too. Although, there are some Light spells they can’t do, like the Patronus Charm. Their magic isn’t compatible.”

“What’s the Patronus Charm?” Harry asks, bringing his quills, parchment, and ink over to the desk as well.

“It was created to fend off dementors. Dementors are the Dark creatures that guard Azkaban,” Draco extrapolates when Harry looks confused. “A weak patronus acts as a shield between the caster and the dementor; but a full-fledge patronus takes shape of a guardian spirit, a creature that’s a symbol of who the caster sees as a protector. It’s very advanced defense magic. Only the higher ups in the Ministry, my godfather, and Dumbledore are rumored to be able to cast one. Supposedly, they can even pass voice messages over long distances through their patronus as well.”

“Woah,” Harry says in awe. “Wait, why are dementors Dark creatures?”

Harry doesn’t miss Draco’s involuntary shiver. “They’re terrifying… they float and have no face under their hood, just a mouth… they’re used as guards because they suck all the positive emotions out of people just by being in their presence. It keeps the prisoners weak. Makes them crazy too. But it’s how the dementors feed. They keep feeding off your emotions until they decide to ‘kiss’ you.”

“Kiss?”

“Yeah,” Draco grimaces. “They latch on and… and _suck out your soul_. You’re still alive, but you’re empty. Just a body. It’s worse than death.”

Harry’s forced to brace himself against his desk chair. That’s what’s around his godfather all the time? “What’s to stop them from ‘kissing’ all the prisoners in Azkaban?”

“They have a deal with the Ministry. They get to feed off the prisoners as much as they want but they can only ‘kiss’ the ones that are sentenced to it by the Wizengamot. Those criminals are the worst of the worst, you have to do something truly awful to get ‘The Kiss’.”

“Oh,” is all Harry can say. “Like the people that hurt the Longbottoms?”

Draco hesitates for a brief second. “As far as I know, they’ll be ‘kissed’ after they serve two life sentences in Azkaban. The Ministry wanted to punish them before… you know… _they’re gone_.”

“Oh,” Harry repeats before giving the boy a mild nod. “Right. Draco, remind me never to commit a crime.”

Draco laughs loudly, surprising both of them with its heartiness. “How about this, Golden Boy, you commit all the crimes you want, and I’ll remind you _not to get caught_.”

Harry gives him a wicked grin. “How very Slytherin of you, Draco.”

The boy looks smug. “Father and I have a bet going. He thinks it will take the Sorting Hat a whole second to decide I should be in Slytherin. I bet him it won’t even be put on my head before it sorts me.”

They both chuckle and Harry relaxes, once more marveling at the situation. This is the longest he’s spent talking to someone his own age without being beaten to a bloody pulp. It’s nice.

“How do you know so much, Draco? Do all kids with magical parents learn all of this too?”

Draco inflates slightly at Harry’s compliment. “Any pureblood or half-blood family worth their magic teaches their kids the basics before they go to Hogwarts. There are only a few families who’d rather lay back and let them learn about our world themselves. The Weasleys, for example. A dishonorable brood if there ever was one. They have seven children, can you believe that? Like rabbits, they are. Lucky for them, their two oldest sons have made something of themselves and the twins are in Slytherin. I’ve heard they’re sneaky little weasels, always pulling pranks but never getting caught. So long as they stay far away from me, I suppose they’ll be reasonably tolerable. However, from what I’ve seen of the son in our year and the daughter, there is much to be desired.”

Harry in fact can _not_ believe they have that many children in one family. He can’t imagine what it would be like having that many siblings. Hopefully they have a house as big as the Malfoys. “Why are they dishonorable?”

“Over the generations, the Weasleys have ignored several marriage contracts and broken duel regulations with other magical families, including the Malfoys. They’ve lost their wealth and prestige, but they’re considered blood-traitors because they’d rather act like muggles than respect wizarding culture.”

“Oh. How so?”

“They ignore almost all the other holidays traditional for wizards and celebrate _Christmas_ and _Halloween_ instead of Yule and Samhain.”

“I’ve never heard of Samhain,” Harry admits, only knowing Yule because Aunt Petunia got a Yule log dessert for Christmas dinner one year.

“I’m not surprised,” Draco sniffs distastefully in a way that Harry doesn’t think is directed at him specifically. “Muggles have turned our spiritual gathering into a night of ridiculous costumes and candy. A _real_ Samhain recognizes the night when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest. We give offerings to those who have passed on and celebrate with fires, feasts, and sometimes games. That part’s mostly younger children though.”

“That sounds brilliant,” Harry breathes out in awe. “Is there a celebration like that coming up soon?”

“The next big one is Mabon, on the twenty-first of September. It’s the Fall equinox and definitely not one you can miss. It’s one of two days of the year when the Earth and Magic are in total balance, so we perform rituals to re-center our magic and souls. It’s incredible.”

Harry restrains himself from bouncing on his toes. “Are we allowed to do the rituals at Hogwarts?”

A miffed look falls over Draco. “Apparently not. Another reason that place has gone to the dogs. From what Mother and Father told me, anyone who does honor the holidays does so in secret. Most of the Slytherins and a handful of Ravenclaws are likely to take part, so we won’t be alone, but it’s not something shared in the Great Hall if you know what I mean.”

“Why not? Shouldn’t we be teaching muggleborns and the others about the holidays so that they don’t have to be done in secret? And why are they done in secret? Are the rituals dangerous?”

“They’re not dangerous, no,” Draco shakes his head in resigned annoyance. “Just frowned upon because they’re seen as too wild, too _Dark_ to be practiced. Believe me, I asked Mother and Father the same thing. Apparently, courses like Wizarding Culture were removed from Hogwarts decades ago, and soon after, the muggle holidays were used. They don’t want to frighten off all the new rabble.”

Harry stares. “ _That makes no sense_. Again! It’s like what we were talking about at lunch! That’s not how it should work!”

Draco sighs, swiping invisible dust off his trousers. “Atleast you understand, Harry. It would have been a shame if you’d gone around making friends with the wrong sort.”

“Don’t worry, Draco,” Harry huffs, giving Draco a side smile. “I know the wrong sort when I meet them.”

Looking awfully pleased, Draco stands up and stretches his back. “If you’re nearly done, we can still go flying before dinner.”

Harry looks at the remaining clothes on the bed, recognizing that they should be hung up in the wardrobe. Not wanting to risk Draco seeing the dragon egg, he shrugs. “I’m ready now. What should I wear?”

“You can borrow some of my quidditch robes. Dobby!”

Harry looks up, remembering the word. “Is that a name of a spe—?”

“Young Master be calling Dobby?”

Harry nearly leaps out of his skin at the squeaky voice and accompanying diminutive creature suddenly appearing in front of them. Its watery, green eyes pop out of a triangular face with long, floppy ears being wrung by knobby hands. The creature’s dressed in a uniform that reminds Harry of Alfred, a butler from one of Dudley’s favorite cartoons. The fabric however is dark green with silver trim, and if the creature wasn’t so nervous and hunched in on itself, it would look quite proper.

Draco isn’t fazed by the creature’s abrupt presence. “Dobby, fetch one of my older sets of quidditch robes and bring it in here then lay my current green set on my bed.”

“Yes, sir, Dobbys be doing that,” the creature, Dobby, says with a bow before it pops – apparates! – out of the room.

“What was _that_?!” Harry asks Draco the second Dobby’s gone.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s just Dobby,” Draco shrugs. “One of our house elves.”

“Do they sweep chimneys?” Harry asks before he can think better of it, not sure if Draco knows of the shop in Knockturn. Bloody hell, Harry cringes internally. Judging by Draco’s suddenly suspicious curiosity, he’s probably familiar with the reference.

“Of course they do. Among other things. House elves work for wizarding families and in return, they receive lodging, protection, and magic that keeps them healthy and alive.”

“Oh,” Harry says, glad that maybe they aren’t treated like the Dursleys treated Harry. He barely refrains from jumping once more when Dobby returns, draping a set of royal blue, padded robes on the bed.

“Will that be alls Young Masters be needing?” Dobby asks, threading twitchy fingers together.

Draco smirks at Harry. “Actually Dobby, I’d like to introduce you to my new friend. Harry Potter.”

The reaction is instantaneous and for a moment, Harry’s worried the little elf will collapse in what looks like reverence and embarrassment.

“Harry _Potter!_ Oh! Young Master is The-Boy-Who-Lived! Dobby be knowing your names, sir, you are a hero even among us elves, sir, but oh, Dobby has been so rude, not even knowing he speaks with our savior, bad Dobby, _bad!”_

Harry doesn’t react in time when Dobby suddenly moves. Draco on the other hand obviously expected the elf to all but launch himself at Harry’s bedpost, and successfully wrangles the elf away before he can bang his head against the wood. Startled by the commotion, Forest and the Adder rise, hissing in annoyance.

“He’s still in training,” Draco rolls his eyes, loosening his grip when Dobby starts to calm down again. “Might have been dropped on his head a few times by his parents… they belonged to the Crouch family… not the sanest lot.”

“Dobby is sorry, sir!” The mortified elf cries out. “Young Master is too kind for stopping Dobby. Dobby be needing punishment though, not knowing he stands in the presence of greatness… disgraceful!”

Draco smirks at Harry’s befuddlement. “Alright then, Dobby. Your punishment is to help His Greatness get dressed in his quidditch robes.”

Harry narrows his eyes at his smug friend. The little elf however gasps and sweeps into a bow so low his protruding nose squishes against the ground. “Dobby will do this punishment, sir! Dobby be happy to!”

Harry smiles weakly back at the beaming elf, glaring at Draco’s back as the boy leaves them to it with a cheerful “meet me in the hall when you’re done” tossed over his shoulder.

When the door’s closed, Dobby bounces in place, grinning up at Harry. “Yous be taking your outer clothes off now, Your Greatness, sir.”

“Um, right, yeah, I’ll uh…” Harry blunders, jerkily removing his outer robe and long sleeve shirt, leaving on his undershirt so that Dobby won’t see his scarred torso. While he does so, he can’t think of anything to say and Dobby is apparently content watching Harry undress, so a too-long, awkward moment of silence ends up engulfing them.

Forest suddenly hisses a laugh behind Harry. **You faced off against a smelly, liver-eating woman, hatchling, but you can’t make conversation with a harmless elf?**

 **It’s different!** Harry huffs, not seeing Dobby’s awed look at the use of parseltongue. **She didn’t see me in just my pants! And atleast Sacha talked the whole time I was bloody naked!**

Great, now even the Adder is laughing at him. Refraining from sticking his tongue out at the pair like he wants to, Harry tries to tighten Draco’s trousers. Super, even when he was younger, Draco was bigger than Harry’s current size. _Stupid Dursleys._

“I can be adjusting those, Young Master Savior, sir,” Dobby offers and before Harry can respond, the elf snaps his nimble fingers. Harry meeps a little when the trousers shrink until the waistband hugs his narrow hips and the fabric becomes just shy of tight around the rest of his legs.

He looks gobsmacked at the nervously smiling elf. “You can do wandless magic?!”

“Of course, sir, I’m an elf.”

Harry should have realized as much, having not seen Dobby holding a wand at any point when apparating. “Do other magical creatures have to use wands or something else?”

“No, sir, just wizards and witches be needing wands.”

“Oh,” Harry says, accepting from Dobby a jersey with _MALFOY_ embroidered in silver on the back. “Do you know why?”

Dobby tilts his head then shrugs his tiny shoulders. “Human magic be different, sir. Just like Elf magic be different from Goblin magic and Centaurs and others.”

Harry shrugs on the outer robe, smiling in gratitude when Dobby shrinks it and his shirt with another snap of his fingers. “Thank you, Dobby.”

The elf’s smile becomes luminescent. “You is _welcome_ , Harry Potter, sir! You be asking for Dobby any thing, sir, Dobby be getting it!”

He glances briefly towards the wardrobe. “Actually, can you do me a favor, Dobby, please?”

“Of course, sir, what would you be liking Dobby to do?”

“It’s nothing big, I promise, I’d just like it if… maybe you don’t clean or touch the wardrobe while I’m staying here?”

Dobby looks over to said wardrobe before back at Harry, his head tilted, undoubtedly questioning the odd request and whether or not he’s allowed to obey. Eventually, he does nod slowly. “Dobby can be doing that, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby won’t touch.”

It’s Harry’s turn to beam. “Thank you, Dobby.”

Dobby gives a happy squeak and bows once more before popping out of the room.

 **I could eat him if he bothers you too much** , Forest offers up.

 **Don’t you dare,** Harry snorts, plopping down to slide on his dragonhide boots. **He doesn’t bother me. I just don’t like the idea of someone doing everything for me. Reminds me too much of the Dursleys.**

 **Yessss,** Forest says, tasting the air. **I understand, I think. Very well, he is safe from me. I can’t speak for _beautifulscales_ though.**

Harry peeks his head up over the edge of the bed to see Forest watching the Adder who gives a sibilant hiss. **Is that your name?** Harry asks her. **_Beautifulscales_?**

 **Perhapssss,** she says, tensing her coils into a tighter spool. **I will let my hatchling name me if he desires.**

 **I’ll ask him** , Harry offers, realizing that he should have helped Draco come up with a name much sooner than now. **Would you two like to come flying with us?**

 **I think not** , Forest says. He adjusts his body as well, getting comfortable on his pillow once more. **We have some digestion to finish. Don’t fall, hatchling.**

 **I’ll try** , Harry laughs. He finishes tying his boots and looks up, calculating the angle of sunlight behind the curtained windows. Pulling one of the curtains aside, he lets a sliver of warmth spear the head of his bed. The snakes immediately give him pleased and thankful hisses. He grins before looking around once more to make sure he has everything.

Satisfied, he leaves the room, not surprised to find Draco waiting somewhat impatiently. “Sorry, we got talking,” Harry apologizes.

“I suppose I can forgive you,” Draco says dramatically, leading the way down the corridor. “You have to make time for your fans after all.”

Harry groans at Draco’s devious smirk. “I don’t have _fans_. I have a bunch of crazy people who think they know me and want to shake my hand because of something I supposedly did as a baby.”

Draco side-eyes him. “You don’t think you defeated the Dark Lord?”

Harry frowns down at the stairs they descend. “I dunno. I was a baby! I could barely talk, let alone defeat one of the most powerful wizards of all time. I don’t understand how I could have, you know? Whatever magic he used on me only left me with a wonky scar. None of it makes sense.”

“Hmmm, yes, you are quite strange, aren’t you?” Draco says, nodding sagely.

“Hey, weren’t you the one blubbering like a fish at my _greatness_ in the pet shop?” Harry jabs right back.

“In my defense, it’s not every day I meet someone as influential as me, let alone a metamorphmagus and parselmouth!”

“Fair enough,” Harry laughs. After a moment, he tilts his head in consideration. “By influential, do you mean an Heir to a Most Noble and Most Ancient family?”

Draco appraises him for a moment. “I’ll admit, Harry, I am surprised you know of our status and the proper etiquette.”

“Learned about some of it in a book last night,” Harry shrugs, squinting when they cross through the greenhouse into the open air of the estate grounds.

Draco mutters something petulant about “…years of etiquette torture…” before heading towards a shed that’s much nicer than the one at the Dursleys, not that Harry’s surprised. “The brooms are in there. It would be a long walk to the pitch otherwise.”

Harry nods in acceptance. The inside is clean and smells of freshly mowed grass, one of Harry’s favorite fragrances. Sticking out of one wall are holders containing an array of brooms. The ones in the furthest back look a bit worse for wear. The ones near the door are glossy and smooth, and Harry can’t help the awed look he gives Draco when handed one of them.

“That’s a Nimbus Seventeen Hundred,” Draco explains, retrieving the other off the wall and holding it out between them. “This is a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

“Isn’t that the model that was in the shop window?” Harry remembers, eyes running over the swooping arch of the broom and the words _Nimbus 2000_ detailed in gold on the handle. No, these are definitely not brooms meant for cleaning Aunt Petunia’s pristine floors.

“Of course,” Draco brags. “Father got me one before it was even released. Since it’s your first time, you can use that one. It’s a bit slower than the Two Thousand, but all the professional teams currently use it. Much better than the shoddy brooms we’ll be using at Hogwarts I’ll imagine.”

Harry doesn’t care if the broom came out a century ago, _it bloody flies!_

“How does it work?”

“Here,” Draco says, leading them back out into the sunlight and bringing them a few meters away from the shed. “Put it on the ground.”

Imitating Draco, Harry lays the broom down next to his right foot and holds his hand out at waist height.

“Now say ‘up’,” Draco orders. When he does, his broom floats right on up into his palm.

Eager to try, Harry says the magic word, almost surprised when it leaps into his hand.

“Now straddle it,” Draco says, doing so and demonstrating how to position his hands. “And grip it like this.”

He grins when Harry does so, a challenging glint peeking through the steel in his eyes. “Now lean forward and push up!”

Harry gasps when Draco goes soaring into the air, his movements controlled and easy as he climbs and swoops in a large arc around Harry. “Go on, then!” he shouts in jest. “What’s the matter, Harry? Bit beyond your reach?”

Grinning wildly, Harry braces himself before copying Draco’s instructions, whooping when he finds himself coasting up to meet Draco and…

_Oh._

Flying is _wonderful._

Brimming with fierce joy, he shoots past his friend. “What are you waiting for? Race you to the pitch!”

Laughing at Draco’s insulted cry, Harry urges his broom to go faster, cheeks stinging from the wind and a goofy smile that doesn’t dissipate even when Draco zooms past him just before they breach the pitch.

“This is brilliant!” Harry shouts.

“You’re not half bad at this,” Draco says, completing a barrel roll around Harry.

Harry loops around Draco and, loving the air rushing through his unruly hair, he keeps his broom nose pitched down at the end of his second loop, falling in a near vertical dive towards the ground. The wind steals his breath away and he’s thankful for his glasses protecting his eyes. He pulls up barely a meter above the ground, a holler of adrenaline escaping him when his toes trail the grass until he arcs back up to join Draco.

“You’re mad!” the gobsmacked blonde cries. “ _Do it again!_ ”

So he does, challenging Draco to do one as well. They continue, both daring the other to do more and more outlandish moves until they’re red-cheeked and Harry’s forgotten all his Earth-bound troubles.

***

“Imagine it!” Draco says when they’re back on the ground and the sky’s flushed pink and orange. Harry notes with glee that the blonde is uncharacteristically out of breath. “Both of us playing on the Slytherin team! We’d be unbeatable!”

“ _If_ I’m in Slytherin,” Harry laughs, putting his broom back on the wall alongside Draco’s. They missed afternoon tea, but Harry can’t find it in himself to care. This afternoon has been the most fun he’s ever had.

“Yes, well, I did say ‘imagine’, didn’t I,” Draco huffs. “I suppose if you’re in another House, I’ll just have to enjoy making a fool of you instead.”

“Oy!”

“Face it, Harry, I’m better than you.”

“That was my first time flying!”

“A fact I find that hard to believe, Heir Potter.” Draco and Harry look up, surprised to see Lord Malfoy standing in the hallway watching them. The man shifts his head just enough to direct his focus on Harry. “Your prowess on a broom is quite impressive.”

Harry shuffles under the praise, wishing the man would just call him ‘Harry’. He rolls with it anyway. “Thank you, Lord Malfoy, sir.”

“Spying on us, Father?” Draco smirks, surprising Harry with the blatant teasing.

Lord Malfoy quirks an unimpressed brow at him. “I may have looked out the window. Dinner will be served soon. I expect you both to be in proper attire.”

He turns away, movements precise yet leisurely.

“Come on,” Draco says, nudging Harry. “Mother hates tardiness.”

Proper dinner attire apparently meant simple but nicer looking clothes than what Harry had been wearing earlier. After Forest and **_beautifulscales_** once again decide to stay in Harry’s room, the boys head back downstairs, this time to the formal dining room where Lord and Lady Malfoy await.

Immediately upon entering the doors, Harry is struck by how _posh_ the room looks, even with the somber mood reflected by the darker shades of green, gray, and brown staining the furniture and walls. An unlit fireplace hugs one wall in the middle of the extensive table’s length. Paintings on the walls have gold frames, the napkins are folded so they stand on the plates, and even the high-backed chairs look fit for the Queen. Everything looks far too expensive for Harry to even look at, let alone touch.

Dreading the likelihood of embarrassing himself, Harry lets Draco sit him down, creating the same configuration as they’d all been in for lunch.

“I heard you have taken quite the liking to quidditch, Harry,” Lady Malfoy says, eyeing the two of them with a hint of amusement lifting her features.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry grins sheepishly. “I’ve never done anything like it.”

“Much better than those metal contraptions muggles always roll around in, isn’t it?” Draco jokes, taking a sip of an orange colored beverage before him.

Harry eyes his own glass questioningly. “I wouldn’t know,” he says, taking a sip and delighting in the sweet taste.

Wait.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He risks a glance up at the Malfoys. Yep, he definitely shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh?” Lord Malfoy asks, his tone neutral but Harry can see how carefully he’s watching Harry. “Did your family not own one?”

Harry wants to snort. As if Uncle Vernon could stand the embarrassment of not having his fancy car to show off to the neighbors. “No, they did.”

The Malfoys don’t seem willing to accept his non-answer so he continues, “I mean, Uncle Vernon would drive to work. I just walked to school since it wasn’t very far away.”

Lady Malfoy hums, not touching the pale-yellow soup that’s appeared before all of them.

“Hagrid’s motorcycle was fast,” Harry blurts out. “It could fly.”

“Really?” Draco asks, putting his napkin on his lap. “I’m surprised it could get off the ground with that oaf’s fat arse on it.”

“Draco!” Lord Malfoy immediately scolds, narrowing his eyes at his contrite son. “Such language is beneath you.”

“Sorry, Father,” he says before ducking his head, speaking low enough that only Harry can hear. “It’s true though.”

Harry’s too nervous to laugh. He clears his throat a bit and uses the outermost spoon to ladle a bit of the soup, doing his best not to slurp.

When the silence carries on a bit too long, he asks something else that’s been on his mind. “Are there any other forms of magical travel besides apparition and floo?”

“There are portkeys,” Lady Malfoy says after she finishes another spoonful. “They can be any object, but they are enchanted to transport you from one place to another. It’s essentially apparition for those who cannot apparate by themselves yet.”

That sounds pretty handy.

“Can a portkey take you further than apparating can?”

“It depends on the strength of the wizard or witch. Those with more power can travel further by themselves than someone who spells a portkey. But generally, yes, portkeys can cover larger distances. They are mostly used for traveling overseas.”

“Can house elves and other creatures apparate really far too?”

Lady Malfoy considers this, looking to her husband for his opinion. “I’m not certain. I don’t believe I’ve heard of any research on the matter.”

“Harry wanted to know if elves sweep chimneys,” Draco suddenly chirps in with an innocent expression.

The adults’ eyes snap to Harry just as he’s about to curse out the boy who’s clearly trying to get him in trouble. “Where did you hear that, Harry?”

“Nowhere, just read it somewhere—”

Lord Malfoy cuts him off. “Did you go into Knockturn Alley?”

“No, well, I—”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I didn’t—!”

“Harry.”

Dang it. “Agh, yes, I mean no, they didn’t see _me_.”

“…you changed your features.”

“Yes.”

“But you were alone?”

“I had Forest?”

“Heir Potter, I hope you realize how dangerous and foolish it was for you to venture down that particular Alley?”

“Nothing happened! Except for the lady thing trying to eat my liver, but I found some wicked books in the—”

“ _You encountered a Hag?!_ ”

“I dunno if that’s what she was, but she wasn’t very nice and had a lot of warts—”

“That would be a Hag, whose favorite afternoon snack just so happens to be little boys who go wandering where they shouldn’t.”

Huh, she had said something like that, hadn’t she?

“I was there in the morning,” Harry mumbles contritely.

“Heir Potter, look at me,” Lord Malfoy waits until Harry does, holding his gaze with the most serious expression Harry has yet to see on the man. “Do you understand that you should never have gone down there?”

“Why not? Because all the shops focus on Dark magic?”

“…among other things.”

Harry can’t help it. “I’m not afraid of Dark magic. And I know you’re not either.”

“Pardon me?”

No, he definitely can’t keep this to himself and put it off, not now when he’s going to be staying with these people for a month. “Draco was telling me about the holidays and rituals you do. And you disagree with how Hogwarts and the Ministry handle new muggleborns… You were on Voldemort’s side, weren’t you?”

Lady Malfoy slowly sets down the glass in her hand and Draco’s mouth hangs open, his fork full of food hovering just below his chin.

No one speaks for a long moment.

“Yes.”

Harry exhales heavily at Lord Malfoy’s blatant admission.

“Right,” he says, staring unseeingly at the tabletop. “Right.”

“It is not as you think.”

“No?” Harry still can’t make himself meet the man’s eyes.

“No. You are correct: we do not think our traditions should change for those entering our world. Change in some ways is necessary for the sake of progress, however, abandoning what makes our culture’s foundations is unforgiveable. The Dark Lord… he was ambitious. Our parents had very specific expectations of us for our futures and our families’ loyalties, and they happened to align with the Dark Lord’s plans. Do we regret serving a mad man who betrayed his own? Yes. Do we regret fighting for our freedom of expression and magical practice? No. Never.”

“Did you hurt people?”

“Yes. Just as they hurt us. We were at war, Heir Potter, injuries and casualties are a risk we all knew before we got involved.”

Even Harry’s parents. Did they want muggles to know about them? Why would his mother want that when Aunt Petunia hated magic and her own sister because of it?

“Do you think we invited you here to harm you, Harry?”

 _I made it easy for you if you did_ , Harry snarks at himself. _Walked right into your villain’s lair._

He shrugs.

“Allow me to clarify then. We invited you here, not because of your fame or as an act of revenge for the Dark Lord. You are here because you are family, and a boy who has been stripped of his culture for too long. Every magical child is cherished, and you are no different. You deserve to be here with us in the wizarding world.”

Harry blinks hard, not liking how his throat is closing. He clears it and nods sharply. “I suppose you’d have to face Tom the barman if anything happened to me… since he saw me go with you.”

Lady Malfoys does a small laugh of air through her nose. “There is that. Do you think you can trust us, Harry?”

How can he? The only person he’s ever trusted isn’t even human.

Well, it’s not like they could be much worse than the Dursleys if they decide to hurt him after all.

He nods again. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good,” she says, relaxing back in her seat. Draco finally goes back to eating properly, but Lord Malfoy is not done with him yet.

“That being said, Heir Potter, while we may not be your guardians, if you ever do something so ill-conceived again whilst in our care, you will face punishment.”

Harry goes alarmingly pale. No, _no, she just said, she promised, he’s not safe, he needs to escape, has to leave—_

Lady Malfoy’s clear voice breaks through his panic. “Harry, we would do the same if it were Draco. It is for the sake of your growth and well-being, not because we wish to harm you.”

Harry looks over to Draco, silently asking _is that true_?

“My broom privileges were taken away for a month the time I borrowed one of the Malfoy family wands and tried to break through the wards downstairs,” Draco shrugs, showing only mild annoyance at the memory.

Harry gapes at him. _That’s it? A month with no flying?_

“Why so tense, Harry?” Draco snorts. “You think Mother and Father would beat you for sneaking into Knockturn Alley? Almost every child does at some point!”

 _Uh, yes._ He’s been punished far worse for far less.

“That distasteful practice was outlawed some years ago,” Lord Malfoy interjects. “Many in our generation have no intention of using such barbaric actions on our children as our parents did on us.”

“They hit you?” Draco squeaks at his father, aghast.

“My father preferred to use his cane when dealing out corporal punishment,” he says with dark amusement, something Harry can’t reciprocate.

“The Black family deemed a physical punishment too muggle,” Lady Malfoy supplies. “Our parents used magic to correct our behavior. I believe Aunt Walburga treated Cousins Regulus and Sirius to the Cruciatus Curse on several occasions.”

Draco can’t seem to fathom what he’s hearing.

“What’s the Cruciatus Curse?” Harry asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

“One of the three Unforgiveable Curses. It causes the greatest amount of pain imaginable,” Lady Malfoy says before subtly steadying herself against her chair. “It is the curse used to torture the Longbottoms. The other two Unforgivables are the Imperius Curse, which give the caster control over their target’s mind, and the Killing Curse, which… well, that one is quite explanatory.” 

“Oh.” Harry’s stomach twists and he stares at the delicious looking pasta now before him, knowing there’s no chance he can eat it. The weight of the day is finally getting to him; he needs to be alone. “I’m sorry to be rude, but can I go to bed? I’m really tired.”

“You may,” Lady Malfoy allows, looking equal parts worried and relieved. “Perhaps our next meal won’t be spent discussing such morbid topics, yes?”

Harry smiles faintly. “Thank you again for the food, and letting me stay here, and… everything.”

“You are quite welcome, Harry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Harry says to the adults before turning to Draco. “I’ll have your Adder go to your room, Draco. She wanted to let you choose her name.”

Draco looks pleased, if a bit drawn from the evening’s discussion. With one more nod, Harry leaves the Malfoy family, padding across the main hall and stairs to his room.

 **What is wrong, hatchling?** Forest asks immediately upon seeing Harry’s face.

 **Nothing. Just tired.** Harry sits on the bed, removing his shoes and replacing them in their box.

**Hmmm. I think no library for you tonight, Harry hatchling.**

**Yeah** , Harry agrees easily. He removes his shirt and trousers, going to the wardrobe to hang them up with the others since he barely wore them. He tugs on the clothes he wore to bed last night and checks the dragon egg, pushing a bit more magic into the shield just to be safe. After opening the door to let **_beautifulscales_** out, he pulls the covers back on the bed and settles in with a sigh, huffing when he sinks into the extremely soft material.

Removing his wand holster, Harry slips it under his pillow and focuses for a moment, using magic to clean his skin, hair, and teeth. Tomorrow he will brush his teeth for real and take another bath. Right now, he’s too exhausted.

 **You should come fly with me sometime, Forest,** Harry yawns, turning on his side to look at Forest slinking under the duvet next to him and squashes the pillow some so his face doesn’t sink in as much. **I think you’ll like it.**

**Perhapsss. Sleep now, hatchling.**

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? A lot of dialogue, I know, but we're off to Hogwarts next so there'll be more action to come.  
> Also, tomorrow happens to be my birthday, so if you feel like dropping a comment with your thoughts on the fic, it will make my day! I always love reading your feedback, so please keep 'em coming!
> 
> Stay healthy and thank you all for your patience!


	7. End of Summer Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry adjusts to life at Malfoy Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there.  
> This new chapter is a whopping 50,000+ words, so I split it into two parts.  
> Hope you enjoy!

“Did you sleep well, Harry?”

Did he? He’d been comfortable, certainly. The feeling of lying on clouds was decidedly odd after years of sleeping on a thin mat. The nightmares he suffered, however, had not left him alone. Flashes of people screaming in pain and cloaked shadows sucking out his soul had led to a lot of tossing and turning throughout the night.

He doesn’t think Lady Malfoy would care to hear his complaining, so he says none of that. Instead, Harry gives her a tired smile. “I did, thank you. I’m sorry for leaving dinner so early last night.”

She hums, watching him over her cuppa. “You did not eat very much.”

“I was full,” he insists. “The soup was good.”

“Perhaps something heartier for breakfast, yes? It’s important for boys your age to get plenty of nourishment.”

He nods obediently, thoughts scraping against his fragile underbelly. She’s wrong. It’s important for boys his age _who deserve food_. Like Dudley and Draco _._ “I just don’t eat very much.”

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that. Eggs?”

He accepts them, and his breakfast with Lord and Lady Malfoy ends up being oddly peaceful considering he just met them yesterday and he’s constantly reminding himself to use the silverware instead of his fingers. Draco’s still asleep, Lord Malfoy is reading a floating newspaper with moving images, and Lady Malfoy isn’t pressuring Harry into conversation.

Again, Harry’s reassured he’s made the right decision in staying with them.

He’s fumbling with scooping a bite of egg and bangers on to his spoon when a wrinkled house-elf pops into the room.

“The post, Master Malfoy, sir.”

“That will be all, Cadby,” Lord Malfoy says, accepting the letters from the elf.

“Yes, sir,” and he’s gone with a pop.

Harry turns back to his food, wondering how many house-elves live with the Malfoys and where they stay within the manor.

“There’s a letter for you, Heir Potter.”

Harry startles, taking the thin envelope from Lord Malfoy. Who would be writing to him?

Only his name is scrawled on the front. The opening is sealed with a wax seal, its design vaguely familiar.

“That’s from Gringotts,” Lady Malfoy supplies, taking a bite of her halved grapefruit.

Increasingly befuddled, Harry tears into the letter, brows raising when he reads its contents.

Heir Potter,

The topics covered in our recent engagement brought several curiosities forth. As such, I ordered a full audit to be conducted on your accounts.

I am afraid you will find the results quite unsatisfactory.

The information is contained within the envelope, simply push your magic forth and it will be revealed to you.

Should you require further advisement, I will make myself available upon request.

Sincerely,

Account Manager Master Griphook

Harry re-reads the ominous words once more before folding the letter back up, slowly putting it back in the envelope. He’ll read the attached documents once he’s alone.

He looks up to see the adults keeping their eyes averted in a semblance of privacy. Sensing him looking, Lady Malfoy returns her attention to him.

“What’s an audit?” he asks her, knowing he’s basically telling her what the letter was about. He doesn’t know where else he can get an immediate definition from.

“A detailed examination of one’s monies and possessions,” she answers. “Is something the matter?”

Harry nibbles at his bottom lip. “I’m not sure.” He sets the envelope on the table, gearing himself up for asking his next words. “May I please borrow a biro and paper to write a response with?”

“You may,” she says. “However, I would encourage you to respond using a quill and parchment. Gringotts prefers their missives to be written using wizarding methods.”

“Oh,” Harry says, frowning. He doesn’t know how to write with a quill and ink yet.

“If you are available after breakfast, I’d be happy to provide you with a quick demonstration on how to use a quill. The sooner you learn, the better,” Lady Malfoy adds.

Harry grins at her, grateful he didn’t have to admit how stupid he is out loud. “That would be great, thank you!”

“You are very welcome,” she smiles back.

Draco joins them a while later, his own personal plate of food appearing beneath his drooping head. He greets all of them, waking up a bit more with each bite and sip he takes.

Lady Malfoy turns to her husband. “Is the Minister expecting you soon, Lucius?”

Harry’s head snaps up. Draco had mentioned his father was a politician; does that mean he works with the Prime Minister? But no, Lord Malfoy would probably know more about muggles if he did work with them. There must be a Minister for the wizarding government then.

“Yes, Cornelius is meeting with the British Prime Minister in a few days’ time,” Lord Malfoy says, setting aside the paper. “He has requested my advisement.”

Harry is impressed. The leader of the wizarding world wants Lord Malfoy’s advice?

“Merlin knows the man will otherwise start sending letters to Dumbledore,” Lady Malfoy sighs primly. Harry notes her displeasure with interest.

“Cornelius Fudge is the new Minister,” Draco tells Harry in a low voice. “Came into office not too long ago when Millicent Bagnold retired.”

“Is he good at his job?” Harry asks at the same volume.

Draco smirks up at his father through his lashes. “Father thinks he’s a bit of a babbling buffoon.”

“Now now, Draco,” Lord Malfoy corrects, obviously having heard every word they said. “Nervous though he may be, Cornelius is our Minister. He deserves our respect.”

“Of course, Father.”

Discussion apparently over, Harry happens to notice an absence of scales around Draco.

“Is the Adder still in your room?” Harry asks him.

Draco shakes his head, stabbing a slice of melon. “Artemis is out on the grounds.”

“Artemis?” Harry says, trying to remember if he’s heard that name before.

“The Greek Goddess of the Hunt,” Draco smirks, smug about his clever choice.

Harry grins. “Wicked.”

“An apt name, Draco,” Lord Malfoy approves, Lady Malfoy smiling in agreement.

Draco sits up straighter, obviously quite pleased with their praise.

When breakfast concludes, Lord Malfoy floos to the Ministry and Draco retreats to his room while Lady Malfoy summons a quill, ink bottle, and some parchment. Over the next half hour, she gives him a lesson on quill maintenance, the skill of removing excess ink after each dip in the pot, and how to hold the quill properly so it doesn’t drag.

Harry struggles with the last part, his fingers slightly crooked after several past breaks thanks to the Dursleys. He nevertheless manages to figure out a suitable grip, and soon enough, he’s writing legible words. Both he and Lady Malfoy are quite pleased by the results. She gives him an envelope and tells him to bring her his completed letter whenever so they can send it off to the bank with a Malfoy owl. Harry thanks her profusely and goes upstairs to read the information Griphook sent over.

Sealed in his room with a confused yet supportive Forest next to him on the bed, Harry guides his magic forward to reveal the envelope’s hidden contents.

A thick packet of parchment suddenly materializes. When Harry pulls it out, two smaller envelopes fall on to the bed. He eyes them before deciding to save them for after the rest.

He unfolds the parchment and finds the first page to be a letter from Griphook.

_Heir Potter,_

_First and foremost, I wish to offer my sincerest apologies and willingly step down as your account manager should you request it._

A sinking feeling grips Harry. What could be so bad that Griphook thinks he can’t be in charge of the accounts anymore?

He reads on.

_As I mentioned previously, I have been the account manager for the Potter House vaults going on several decades, and the Evans vaults when your mother married your father. Your parents wisely maintained old investments and continued to make new ones up until their deaths. After that, there was little reason for me to actively review the numbers associated with the accounts as it was assumed you had moved in with financially stable guardians, seeing as no one ventured forward to discuss your appropriate accounts. Your supposed avoidance of our letters was, again, an oddity, but not one worthy of investigation. However, when Mr. Hagrid revealed that Mr. Dumbledore has kept your Heir vault key from you and subsequently left you uninformed of your inheritance, I immediately ordered an audit after your previous visit._

“What has he done,” Harry murmured to himself, subconsciously bringing the letter closer to his face, desperate to find out what he knows to be bad news due to one particularly meddlesome man.

_While your Heir vault has remained untouched, the main Potter Family vault has not. Several objects have been removed in addition to multiple withdrawals every year since your parents’ deaths. The sum of those withdrawals is quite hefty._

_The recipients of the withdrawals, the amounts, and the objects removed from the vaults are listed in the following pages._

Hands shaking, Harry lifts the letter and scans the columned statements on the next page. He scans the next page, then the next, realizing that his brain has failed to compute any of it after he first saw the names ‘Vernon Dursley’, ‘Arabella Figg’, and ‘The Fawkes Foundation’ listed as having received several hundred galleons in early November, 1981.

His extremities prickling with numbness, Harry forces his brain to operate as it should and understand what he’s reading.

_Every single month._

_Every single month for the past nine years and then some, the Dursleys have been receiving seven hundred galleons._

Something in Harry snaps.

Perhaps feeling Harry’s heart rate elevating, or because of the low tremor that begins to rumble through the room, Forest wraps himself around Harry. He doesn’t squeeze as his boy shakes, but he does rise up nose to nose with him and hiss insistently.

**Calm, hatchling, CALM!**

Harry’s eyes blaze into the worried snake’s as the rumbling starts to rattle loose objects on the room’s surfaces. **_That bastard was paying them, Forest!_** Harry roars as well as one can when speaking parseltongue. **The Dursleys and my bloody _babysitter_ were given a small fortune that h _e stole from my family!_ Dumbledore, he, he—! All this time, that. _Man_. That, that, _bloody_ –!**

 **I know, hatchling, I know,** Forest hisses, sounding conciliatory yet bloodthirsty. **We will bring him crashing down from his tree, Harry hatchling. We will tear up his roots and burn the remains. _We will fix this_ , but you need to restrain your magic, hatchling, before you hurt anyone.**

The warning halts Harry’s swelling magic. Panting, he is relieved to find nothing in the room appears broken and no one is breaking down the door or apparating in to question the magical outburst.

With great difficulty, he brings his breathing and magic back under control, the seething power and left over make his skin uncomfortably hot. He bears the pain without complaint. He deserves it for being so _freakish_.

Forest relaxes and retreats. He loops around Harry’s neck, nose nudging the thrumming pulse there.

 **I’m sorry,** Harry eventually grits out, ashamed.

 **Don’t be,** Forest soothes. **It is understandable. I assume the deplorable babysitter you mentioned was Arabella Figg?**

 **Yes!** Harry hisses, irate. **And since she knew Dumbledore, then she knew about magic! _Knows_ about it! Knows about me and my parents and _everything_ , and she _never said ANYTHING!_**

 **Just say the word, hatchling,** Forest says, sounding righteous in his fury. **Say the word and I shall bite her.**

 **Your venom would be too quick for what she deserves**. Harry snarls, a contrast to the appreciative hand he runs over Forest’s coils. **I’ll find a way to get back at her.**

Forest slows his writhing, peering over Harry’s shoulder at the words below. **Do you know who The Fawkes Foundation is?**

 **No idea**. **It sounds like it might be a charity, but the timing and name are weird. I have a bad feeling about it.**

Forest gives him a snake version of a hum. **Keep reading.**

Harry does so, reading over the missing items that include an invisibility cloak, books, journals, jewelry, wands, portraits, clothing, and something called a grimoire.

**Have you ever heard of a grim-o-ire? Grim-wore? I don’t know how to say it.**

**I have not** , Forest admits looking at the word just to be sure.

 **I’ll ask Griphook** , Harry says, continuing to the next page where the goblin wrote some more.

_As we previously discussed, Heir Potter, I believe you would have a substantial case against Dumbledore should you choose to pursue one. However, your changed location of residence for the remainder of the summer may be in jeopardy. Dumbledore currently has every right to return you to your muggle relatives until a suitable guardian alternative is chosen and he no longer has any authority over you. Given this likelihood and your unfortunate relationship with your relatives, I suggest we wait on this front. It will allow you time to become more comfortable with your godparents or whoever you think would be a more suitable guardian for yourself._

_Now, the withdrawn items from the vaults can be retrieved, for a standard price. I nevertheless recall you stating your intention to keep Dumbledore unaware for the time being. Having the items go missing from his possession would certainly alert him. It may behoove us to show patience in this matter as well._

_Along this line of thought, I realized another error of mine. While the pouch you obtained from the Heir vault is helpful, it is also cumbersome, as I’m sure you encountered if you made any costly purchases since owning it. Therefore, for your discretion, I’ve included a card that works as a muggle debit card would. Merely present it to the cashier at any wizarding or muggle establishment, and it will retrieve the total from your account. It is attuned to your unique magical signature, so it is proactive against theft. It also automatically converts currencies in addition to updating the account statements included in the envelope with the card._

_In the other envelope is something extremely important. If you have been around any Lords, Ladies, or Heirs, you may have noticed them wearing signet rings on their hands. Do not fret if you have not seen them; there is a high chance they were not visible, as many choose to keep them concealed for comfort and safety purposes. You are undeniably Heir Potter, and therefore, the rightful owner of the Potter Heir signet ring. Though the attachments vary per family, you will find various protections embedded in the ring that prevent mind manipulation as well as certain hexes, poisons, and dangerous spells that may bring harm to your person. Wear it on whatever finger you choose and focus your magic on concealing it from sight as well as touch should you find that more suitable to your preferences._

_As it stands, Dumbledore knows none of this, nor will he be informed. I encourage you to show discretion when making purchases as to not raise suspicion. While he has no authority over your Heir vault, he can certainly cause tension in other ways._

Harry opens the two smaller envelopes that had fallen out before. Both are larger on the inside than they appear. He turns his new gold and royal blue vault card over, watching as the faint, decorative sparkles in the pattern catch the daylight and wink at him.

An actual ring box is somehow stowed in the other flat envelope, and Harry curiously pulls it out. The box is the same royal blue shade as on his vault card, but the ring itself is a clear silver. He squints when he notices there are words inscribed around the band. After close scrutinization, it’s apparent they’re not written in English, so he gives up.

Feeling a faint vibration emanating from the metal, Harry slips it on to his left pointer finger. Immediately, Harry’s skin tingles and his magic sparks. He can’t help the giddy laugh that escapes him at the warmth creeping through him. He’s never felt such a soothing feeling before.

If he were familiar with such a sensation, he’d realize it was the feeling of coming home.

Wiggling his finger, he’s surprised but pleased to see that the ring has shrunk to fit his frail appendage perfectly. Harry finishes reading the last of Griphook’s letter.

_You may find it prudent, Heir Potter, to find an ally that can advise you in further matters. I offer any services within my capabilities should you decline a change in account managers, however, a human that is familiar with Heirship and Lordship responsibilities will aid you greatly._

_You are of course welcome to owl me anytime with questions or to schedule a meeting._

_May your coffers never empty,_

_Account Manager Master Griphook_

Harry exhales heavily through his nose, falling back against the pillows.

 **I don’t know what to think** , he tells Forest. And what was that phrase Griphook used at the end? _‘May your coffers never empty_ ’? Something else to look into.

**You do not need to think about it now. Let it marinate like those delicious meats you cooked for the walrus, pig, and giraffe. What did you call them? Roasts?**

**Yeah** , Harry chuckles. **Alright. I think I’ll let everything _marinate_ while I finish reading my heirship book.**

**A wise decision.**

Harry retrieves his book and settles back against the pillows, the bank papers strewn out next to him. Forest coils back under the duvet.

Harry’s finishing the last couple pages of _Heirship and Lordship, What They Mean_ when there’s a knock on the door. He flounders for a moment before throwing the duvet back, covering the bank papers. Only then does he call out for the person to enter.

It’s Draco. He’s smiling, looking more relaxed than Harry’s ever seen him.

“I came to see if you wanted to go flying,” the blonde says. “I’ve finished with music and we have a couple hours before lunch.”

Harry likes that idea very much. “Sure, let me just get dressed.”

He sets his book aside and stands, questioning his friend as he does so. **Forest, do you want to stay or come with me?**

**I would like to stay. Perhaps you could even warm the pillow and blanket for me, kind hatchling?**

Harry smiles and is about to simply _will_ the bedding to be warm when he remembers something. He tilts his head. “Draco, what are the rules on using magic here?”

Draco raises a brow. “There aren’t any. The wards surrounding the manor protect any magic from the Ministry’s detection methods. Most pureblood manors are that way.”

“So the Trace really doesn’t register here?”

“They don’t register _anything_ ,” Draco smirks. “Why? What are you trying to cast?”

“Just a heating charm for Forest. He’s cold.”

“You know the charm?”

Harry’s shoulders tighten. “Well... Kind of… No, not really.”

“Oh, well I do.”

Draco promptly steps forward with his wand aloft, moving the tip in a clockwise circle as he says, “ _Focillo_ ”.

Nothing about the bed appears different, but Forest immediately relaxes, looking like he’s going to melt into the sheets.

**Ooooooh thatsss gooooood.**

Grinning madly, Harry looks at a victorious Draco. “What else can you do?” he asks.

“I know plenty of spells,” Draco shrugs. “Mother and Father have been teaching me for years using a training wand and one of the Malfoy family wands.”

Great. Other pureblood families probably did that with their kids too. Harry is going to be so behind!

“I can show you a few, if you’d like,” Draco offers, perhaps sensing Harry’s frustration.

Harry immediately brightens at the suggestion. “Yes please!”

“Would you rather we do that now instead of flying?”

Harry smiles at him sheepishly. “If that’s okay.”

“I suppose,” Draco sighs. The corner of his mouth then quirks. “I’m going to be wiping the floor with you, so you might as well put on the quidditch robes. They have some padding.”

Harry is a bit worried about what sort of spells Draco’s going to be using that Harry will need padding for, but he’s far too excited to back out.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Draco easily agrees and goes to get dressed in his own room.

Harry pulls on his robes, hiding everything bank-related in his pack, and rechecking the shield around the egg before he meets Draco in the hall.

They end up in the grass near the greenhouse, Draco having suggested it to avoid them breaking anything inside.

“Alright,” Draco begins, setting down a pillow he had brought from his room. “What do you know about casting magic? The theory of it?”

“Ummm… there’s charms? And spells? And hexes?”

“That’s something, I suppose,” Draco huffs. “Here’s the basics: wizards use Latin words to better summon and direct magic. The incantations are in Latin, but the wand movements follow the patterns of what are called runes.”

“Oh! I know about those. I got a book about Ancient Runes. And Arithmancy,” Harry cheers before he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Though, I haven’t read anything about them yet.”

“That’s fine,” Draco says. “Runes and Arithmancy aren’t really studied until third year.”

Harry remembers that detail from his godfather. “So why do I have to say the word in Latin _and_ do a specific wand movement?”

“It’s just how we are able to channel magic.”

“Magical creatures don’t have to do that, though.”

“Why would they? Magical creatures are _made_ of magic. Magic for them is as easy as breathing.”

Harry nods, conceding the point and absorbing the new information.

“Let’s start with something easy,” Draco starts. “The Levitation Charm. The incantation is _Wingardium Leviosa_ , and the wand movement is this kind of swoosh then sharp flick. Like this. Got it?”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Harry murmurs, repeating it to himself several times. “Okay. How’s that? Is the swoosh enough?”

He copies what he thinks is the right wand movement and grins when Draco nods his approval.

“Watch,” Draco says. He points his wand at the pillow on the ground and says the incantation accompanied by the wand movements. Harry holds his breath as the pillow rises off the ground, floating about to eye level before it wobbles and drops back down.

Harry refrains from clapping, especially after he sees how close Draco is to gloating.

“Your turn,” Draco urges, and Harry immediately complies.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ”

He feels the sizzling connection between his magic and his wand, but there’s another odd sensation as well. Whenever Harry does wandless magic, he simply wills his magic to do something, and it reaches forward with ease. Now, however, it feels like he’s trying to pour a quart of milk through a straw without spilling a drop. He increases his focus until it’s needle-sharp, and pushes his magic harder.

The pillow shoots through the air, rocketing up several meters before it flumps back on the ground, having lost its levitation abilities when Harry’s shock cut off his magic.

He realizes absently that the texture of spellcasting is different, not as smooth as when he does magic without a wand and incantation. It doesn’t matter though. He’s cast his first charm! Successfully!

Well, mostly.

“What was _that_?!” Draco exclaims, looking back and forth between Harry and the pillow.

“I put too much magic into it, I think.”

“I’ll say!” Draco scoffs, though it seems to be in good humor. “Try it again. This time, try to keep it below the clouds.”

Harry does so, feeling a sensation akin to a feather trailing over his skin when he manages to ease the pillow into the air and keep it suspended.

He lets it drop and faces Draco, grinning ear to ear. “Another one!”

***

By the time they go in for lunch, Draco has shown Harry _Lumos_ , _Incendio, Spongify, Flipendo, Expelliarmus,_ _Tempus,_ and _Diffindo_ , which ended in the pillow erupting in a shower of feathers. Draco put it back together with a _Reparo,_ simultaneously showing Harry the new charm. On the door to the greenhouse, Draco also demonstrates how to lock and unlock the door with _Colloportus_ and _Alohomora._ Even though he’s a bit drained, bruised from being knocked head over heels by Draco’s _Flipendo_ s, and has a headache from keeping his magic restrained, Harry feels giddy about his 100% success rate so far.

“Been practicing, have you?” Lady Malfoy asks when they’ve joined her at the table. She uses _Lutum Evanesco_ to clean the dirt off their robes. Lord Malfoy is apparently still at the Ministry and may not be home until late that evening.

Harry nods with exuberance, Draco sitting proudly next to him. “Draco’s a great teacher.”

“I am,” Draco brags. “Harry also shows promise. He might even be able to scrap being second in our year. Behind me of course.”

Harry looks down at his sandwich. Does Draco really think Harry can get better grades than basically all the other students? Is that what the Malfoys expect of him? What if Harry doesn’t do so well? Will he be expelled? Will they never talk to him again?

His chest seizes.

 _Will they punish him_?

What if it’s the opposite of at that Dursleys? What if he can’t do well enough and they don’t let him have any more delicious food, or they lock him in a warded cupboard that he can’t escape, or—

“Draco, there is much more to school than casting spells,” Lady Malfoy admonishes. “Remember how much you dislike writing essays? I can assure you; the professors will be assigning you plenty of essays. I know Professors McGonagall and Flitwick find them to be excellent methods of application.”

Draco pouts, chewing his sandwich with less manners than usual.

Harry meanwhile feels rising dread over Lady Malfoy’s words. He’s definitely screwed. He can write just fine, well enough that he can fake bad writing to fool his teachers and the Dursleys. That being said, he’s never written anything about potions, and he doubts anything’s going to be up to his godfather’s expectations, which means he _really_ won’t want Harry and Harry’s going to lose him too—

No. No, he will study. He will read, and he will study, and he will catch up, and he will be better. The best. No one will know how dumb he is.

He’ll be ready.

“Draco,” he says when there’s a lull in conversation. “I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to lie down after lunch. Maybe read a bit. Is that okay?”

Draco looks put out, but under his mother’s pointed look, he relents. “Yeah, fine. I guess we can fly tomorrow.”

Harry nods, though he’s already thinking over of how he can get out of being outside for too long. More time flying is less time learning.

When they finish eating, Harry managing to get through half of his sandwich before becoming full, they go their separate ways.

 **You alright?** He asks Forest when he enters.

The snake sleepily raises his head from where it had been enclosed in his own coils. **Yessss, hatchling, I am fine. Are you?**

 **I am** , Harry says, smiling despite his new determination. **I cast spells with my wand! And they worked!**

 **Well done, hatchling** , Forest compliments, happy for his friend. **What did you learn?**

 **Watch**. Deciding on the locking charm, he points his wand at the room’s door. “ _Colloportus!_ ”

Forest hisses in approval when the door’s lock clearly slots into place. **I am proud of you, hatchling. What are you going to do now?**

Feeling fuzzy by the given approval, even if it did come from a snake, Harry goes over to his desk where his quill and ink kit is. **I’m going to write a response to Griphook then read.”**

 **Ssssurprise, ssssurprise** , Forest teases. **More bookssss**.

Harry gives him an offended huff that’s mostly faked. With his supplies, laid out, he thinks through what he wants his letter to say before he begins, using his new skills to write a clean letter.

He thanks the goblin for sending everything, telling him he will stay Harry’s account manager under the condition that he watch for any further suspicious activity with the accounts and immediately inform Harry of anything. He agrees on not retrieving everything Dumbledore stole just yet, remembering to also ask what a grimoire is. Since he still doesn’t know what “may your coffers never empty” means, he doesn’t include it in case he uses it wrong and offends the goblin.

Letter sealed in the envelope Lady Malfoy gave him, Harry decides on finishing _Heirship and Lordship, What They Mean_ before he reads _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling. That book seemed logical choice since it’s on his school list and related to what Draco had been talking about.

He removes his shoes and robe before laying out on the bed next to his companion, making sure not to disturb him. Granted, it’s an easy feat considering how massive the bed is. There’s plenty of space for the snake, the pillows, Harry’s books, and Harry himself with plenty of room leftover.

It’s brilliant.

He can’t let anything take it away.

***

He reads straight through afternoon tea, declining Dobby’s offerings as he’s far too focused on his book to eat or drink anything.

By the time Draco summons him for dinner, Harry’s eyes hurt. The satisfaction at finishing almost two books makes up for it. He understands magic and his Heir responsibilities so much better now and can’t wait to finish the last couple chapters of _Magical Theory_ after dinner.

Harry brings the letter for Griphook with him on their walk to the dining room, listening to Draco not-so-subtly lament about being left alone all afternoon with nothing but Artemis and his wizarding chess for entertainment. Harry sees right through the boy’s attempts to make him feel guilty. However, fortunately for Draco, the guilt trip works. Maybe flying for a couple hours tomorrow will be okay. His eyes will need a rest from words eventually, right? He just won’t play for very long. He’ll fake feeling sick if he has to.

“When are your other friends coming home from their holidays?” Harry asks, hoping Draco can spend time with them when he can’t.

“Blaise comes back from Italy tonight,” Draco says, sounding cheerful once more, making Harry silently congratulate himself. “Pansy doesn’t come back from France until tomorrow, same with Daphne and Theo. I suppose I could floo over to Greg or Vince’s, but they’re not nearly as fun. I don’t know about the others.”

While Harry doesn’t know who all of those kids are, a small part of him hopes that maybe he can meet a few of them before Hogwarts starts. If Draco likes them, then they can’t be too bad.

Dinner proves to be calm, if uneventful. Lord Malfoy doesn’t join them as he’s still at the Ministry. Lady Malfoy and Draco fill the time with conversation about nothing and everything.

In their relaxed company, Harry thinks of how this family, confessed Death Eaters and supposed bad guys, has done nothing but help him. Meanwhile, the leader of the ‘good guys’, Dumbledore, is the one that has hurt Harry the most.

After years of being an outcast from other kids and the neighbors around Little Whinging because the Dursleys told lies about him, Harry knows how little he can trust rumors. He’s learned that actions speak louder than words and Harry is hearing loud and clear which of the two parties is better.

When dinner concludes Draco goes off with his mother for a music lesson, the woman promising to send Harry’s letter off. Trusting her, Harry spends the rest of the evening finishing _Magical Theory_ , starting _Magic for Muggleborns,_ taking a luxurious bath, and reveling in the taste of Magically Minty toothpaste.

He dresses in his pajamas that smell freshly washed, checks on the unchanged dragon egg, and turns off the lights, burying under the still-warm bed covers by the glow of the ball of light he hovers above the bed.

 **You didn’t eat today** , Harry whispers to his friend.

 **I could have** , Forest hisses back, practically purring when Harry scratches his scales. **But I did not need to. I will find prey tomorrow.**

 **Okay** , Harry says, turning his head away when his jaw cracks from a huge yawn.

 **You looked at many words today,** Forest chides. **You need your sleep to let your small hatchling brain heal.**

 **I know,** Harry yawns back. His brain really is feeling overwhelmed with all the information he read. He is nevertheless very proud of himself. He understood most of what was written! It just clicked!

He resituates on his side, extinguishing the ball of light and casting the room into darkness with only a sliver of moonlight peeking around the curtains’ edges. He feels Forest move closer, trying to steal as much of Harry’s warmth as he can. Harry finds he doesn’t feel the least bit annoyed by the behavior; absently warming the sheets beneath them before closing his eyes.

***

Draco is already in the dining hall with his parents when Harry joins them for breakfast.

“Ah, Heir Potter, you are awake,” Lord Malfoy greets. Despite his words coming out neutral, Harry sinks in on himself. Did he sleep too long? Are they not going to let him eat?

When he stands there, only a meter in from the door, Lady Malfoy frowns and gestures with her hand to the seat next to Draco. “Please, sit, Harry. We’ve only just started eating.”

He slowly walks towards his seat, and when Lord Malfoy doesn’t scold him, he gingerly sits down.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, so Harry dares to break the silence. “How did your meeting go yesterday, Lord Malfoy, sir? With the Minister and… Minister?”

The man doesn’t smile, but he’s not immediately yelling at Harry to mind his own damn business, so Harry thinks it was okay for him to ask a question.

“It went well, Heir Potter, thank you for asking. It was a customary event, nothing too noteworthy. A lot of showboating with little productivity.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, going back to his food when he realizes he can’t think of any sufficient words to respond with.

“Father is being modest,” Draco speaks up, daintily cutting into a tomato. “He and Minister Fudge’s entourage were brought in through a secret entrance to the Palace of Westminister. That’s where the muggle Parliament meets. Hardly anybody, even other muggles, get to go where Father was allowed.”

Harry thinks that’s brilliant, even if it makes sense since magic is supposed to be kept a secret. Draco’s parents give their son fond, exasperated looks.

“Don’t boast, Draco, there’s no need,” Lord Malfoy says, though a smirk remains carved into his cheek.

Seeing the look, Draco doesn’t apologize or look at all contrite. Instead, he turns to his mother. “Are we still going to the Alley today, Mother?”

Harry perks up at this, excited at the prospect of going back to the Alley to explore and maybe get some more books.

Lady Malfoy smiles at them both. “We are, and you are welcome to join us, Harry. We will depart as soon as we’re ready.”

‘We’ turns out to be just the three of them as Lord Malfoy has several appointments at the Ministry. When breakfast concludes and Lord Malfoy says his goodbyes, the three of them stand to leave, their plates whisked away by an invisible house-elf.

“Why don’t you two freshen up and we will head out,” Lady Malfoy suggests in a way that’s quite clearly an order.

Teeth brushed, Moribund wand hidden in the wardrobe, Ollivander wand on his forearm, snake around his ribs, Gringotts key and vault card in a secure pocket, Harry checks on the dragon egg once more before joining Draco and Lady Malfoy at the fireplace.

“We will be flooing into the Leaky Cauldron once more,” she tells them. “Harry, do you wish to change your features?”

Yes, he’d still rather not let word get back to Dumbledore that Harry Potter is shopping with the Malfoys instead of staying in Privet Drive.

He coaxes his magic out and across his body, concentrating on changing the color of his skin and eyes to match Draco’s. After a few seconds, he looks up, pleased to feel his now pale-blonde hair brushing his shoulders in feathered waves.

Draco’s mouth opens and closes dumbly for a few seconds before he pouts up at his mother. “Why didn’t I get the metamorphmagus ability, Mother?”

“Genetics and Mother Magic, Draco,” Lady Malfoy chides, showing her Healer prowess. “The family magic did not pass along the trait to you. It’s simply the way it is.”

Rather than proceeding, however, Lady Malfoy regards Harry. “If I may be so forward, Harry, I find your metamorphmagus abilities quite intriguing.”

“Oh,” Harry says, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. “Why?”

“Are you familiar with the history of metamorphmagus?” When Harry shakes his head, she continues. “Normally, the ability shows itself early on in a child’s development. Instead of being able to control it, the ability fluctuates with their mood. When they’re mad, for instance, their hair turns red. Did you experience this?”

No, Harry did not. “I didn’t know I could change my scal- I mean skin – until just before I met you.”

Both Lady Malfoy and Draco look bewildered at this.

“Are you certain?” she presses. “That degree of delay, especially for one so magically endowed as yourself, is unprecedented. Perhaps it showed in other ways?”

Harry thinks hard. “I mean… my aunt used to give me horrid haircuts and my hair would always grow back to normal before school the next morning.”

Draco gives him a funny look whereas Lady Malfoy seems to consider this new information. “Very interesting indeed. Are you able to change the shape of your features in addition to changing their color?”

“I think so,” Harry says. With great concentration, he imagines his nose changing to be the same as Draco’s. The transformation is nearly painful, and definitely strange. When his glasses slip down, he reaches up and feels how the bridge of his nose has straightened and narrowed. He grins.

“Stupid genetics,” Draco harrumphs.

When Harry pushes his glasses up yet again, Lady Malfoy raises her wand. “Allow me, Harry.” With a quick murmur and wave, his glasses straighten, the two pads bending in to grip the bridge of his nose better.

Harry thanks her and lets an impatient Draco lead him by the arm to the floo powder.

“Come along, Cousin Harrison, lets grace the peasants with our presence.”

“Harrison?” Harry sputters.

“It’s a name fit for a Malfoy. That or Hadrian.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Harry’?!”

“Do you really want me to answer that? Leaky Cauldron!” Draco calls out, going up in flames and leaving behind a scowling Harry.

“Your turn, Harrison.”

Harry supposes he can’t get too mad at Lady Malfoy, so he lets the name issue go.

 **Ready?** He asks Forest.

**Yesss.**

“Leaky Cauldron,” he announces, scrunching his eyes closed and holding tight to Forest when the world dissolves in a nauseating swirl of color.

The floo kicks him out, and Harry surprises himself by staying on his feet, if a little wobbly. He looks up and sees Draco’s disgruntled face.

“You were supposed to fall on your face,” the Malfoy heir complains, feeling cheated out of a good laugh.

“Gee thanks, Draco,” Harry rolls his eyes, getting out of the way for Lady Malfoy to elegantly step through.

She looks Harry over, likely to see if he fell, and gives him a minute smile when it’s clear he didn’t. “Well done, Harrison. Shall we be off?”

Outside the floo silence ward, there’s a healthy din echoing around the Leaky Cauldron by the morning patrons. It’s busy enough that Tom isn’t aware of their passage, and they find the wall to the Alley remaining open to allow the near-constant stream of people through.

Nobody stops them, but Harry can see and sense the looks the three of them are getting. Some people look insulted by their presence, whereas others look at them wide-eyed before averting their gaze. A few they pass say a passing greeting to Lady Malfoy, to which the straight-backed woman gives a polite one in return.

Harry immediately registers the differences in how the Malfoys are behaving around others in public compared to one another and him in their home. He doesn’t know who he feels sorrier for: the Malfoys for having to pretend, or everyone else for not knowing how nice the Malfoys really are.

Their first stop is a shop Harry doesn’t catch the name of before they go inside. When he questions why they’re there, Draco suddenly appears self-congratulatory about something.

“We’re here to get you a telescope, obviously.”

“Telescope?” Harry asks, his mind racing to recall if a telescope was on his supplies list.

“For Astronomy. You can’t very well study the stars if you can’t see them. Twinkle’s Telescopes sells everything you need for the class.”

Harry grumbles, now remembering the item. “I can’t believe I forgot it.” He had planned out his shopping so well, too!

“It is nothing to fret over, Harrison,” Lady Malfoy suddenly says over her shoulder as she leads the way to the shop’s telescope collection. “You did a marvelous job shopping for everything by yourself. Missing a thing or two is a forgivable offense.”

“Thanks, Lady Malfoy,” Harry replies, even if he is still shame-faced. He turns back to Draco. “Did you notice I didn’t have one when I was unpacking?”

Draco’s smirk is his answer.

“Slytherin,” Harry mutters. If possible, Draco looks even more satisfied.

They end up choosing a telescope slightly better than what’s standard for Hogwarts First Years. Harry enjoys paying for it with his vault card. It is so much less of a hassle than bringing out fists of coins from his pouch.

As they’re leaving, Lady Malfoy addresses Harry. “Harrison, are you satisfied with all the clothing you purchased last time you were in the Alley? Do you have enough robes for class and the weekends as well as for when the seasons turn cold? Winter in Scotland can be quite brutal.”

Harry starts to nod, thinking he had more clothes than even Dudley had, except Lady Malfoy’s point about the winter is a good one. He did get a few warm robes and cloaks from Sacha, but no warm coats. Does he need one or is that too muggle?

“I didn’t get a winter coat,” he tells her. “Do I need one or will robes and a cloak be okay?”

She thinks it over for a moment before steering both boys next to her as she walks down the cobblestone street. “With embedded warming charms, cloaks will do the trick. However, it never hurts to take the precaution of a good coat, hmm? You never know when you’ll need one.”

Harry agrees but also scolds himself for spending more money when he could easily cast a warming charm on himself. He’s about to voice this when Lady Malfoy continues speaking.

“Draco also requires a few more robes. His growth spurt this year has proven to be too much even for the extendable charms done on last season’s clothes.”

Draco looks quite proud about this fact, leaving Harry to feel even more sorry for himself. He’s never fit into Dudley’s old clothes, but in recent years, he’s also never felt like they were getting any smaller. Will he ever get a growth spurt? He hopes so. Being this small _blows_.

He comes out of his thoughts just as they step in front of a very familiar shop.

Before the door’s even closed, a cheerful voice calls out across the room. “Narcissa, belle fleur de lune, comment vas-tu, ma chérie? Ça fait trop longtemps!” *(Narcissa, you beautiful moon flower, how are you, darling? It’s been too long!)*.

“Trop long en effet, Sacha,” *(Too long indeed, Sacha)* she greets in return, shocking Harry with the warm smile she gives the man when they separate from kissing one another’s cheeks. “Vous avez l’air radieux comme toujours.” *(You look radiant as always)*.

“Vous êtes trop gentil,” *(You are too kind)* he teases, looking over her shoulder to see the boys still standing near the door. “Draco! So good to see you, young man.” He turns to Harry, smiling at him as well, though he tilts his head in Lady Malfoy’s direction in silent inquiry. 

“Monsieur Bellamy, might I introduce Harrison?” Lady Malfoy initiates. “He is staying with us until joining Draco at school.”

Harry does his best to give Sacha—Sacha Bellamy apparently—a perfectly polite, neutral greeting. He’s not sure he succeeds. “Hello, sir, nice to meet you.”

He doesn’t miss the attention trailing over his clothes, or the glint in the man’s eyes as he speaks. “Bonjour Petit, *(Hello, Little One)* it is a pleasure to meet you as well. A friend of the lovely Lady Malfoy and young Draco is a friend of mine. May I just say, I simply adore your style, darling. Whoever is responsible for your outfit is a genius.”

Yup, nope, Harry definitely didn’t succeed. Not in the slightest. He should have known Sacha would recognize his own work. What is he supposed to say? Sacha already knows too many of his secrets. Harry can’t let him find out another one or reveal to the Malfoys the horrible reminders on Harry’s skin that won’t disappear with his scale shifting abilities.

“Yes,” Harry eventually says. “He is.”

A wicked look of delight takes over Sacha’s features and Harry’s heart stops, waiting for the moment Sacha announces his secrets. Except, Sacha doesn’t. He simply steers them over to one of the fitting areas and closes the curtains around them as Lady Malfoy tells him what Draco requires.

When he sets to work, Lady Malfoy conjures a chair next to the already existing one and offers it to Harry. The two adults discuss many topics and gossip, slipping between English and French with ease. Draco obviously has an easy understanding of the foreign language as he responds to Sacha’s questions without hesitation. Harry answers a few of his own when someone addresses him in English, otherwise content to listen and watch.

Eventually, Draco ends up with several new robes, trousers, and fitted shirts, all of which look extravagant and expensive. Sacha finishes the tailoring as they go, likely able to finish them all on the spot since there’s not nearly as much clothing as when Harry was first buying clothes.

Harry trades places with him, uncomfortable yet relieved when he isn’t ordered to remove any clothing other than his outer robe. He pliantly aids in the decision-making process for what his new coat should look like. They eventually decide on a dark gray one that reminds Harry of the Paddington Bear character, except for this coat’s higher collar, lack of hood, and extended length that ends around his knees. The design lets Harry hide his lower face behind the soft material; and when he looks at himself in the mirror, he thinks it makes him look taller too.

He’s happy to wait as Sacha makes final fitting adjustments. Except, that feeling quickly flees when Sacha informs Lady Malfoy that he is nearly done, and she may as well ring up her purchases at the counter so that they are not all waiting unnecessarily once Harry’s done.

She agrees easily, taking Draco with her to the counter where Sacha’s coworker, Clair, immediately greets them.

“Madame Malfoy, si je peux être si audacieuse à dire, vous êtes tout simplement élégante aujourd'hui—” *(Lady Malfoy, if I may be so daring to say, you look simply elegant today—)*.

Their words fade away as Harry finds himself faced with a pursed-lipped Sacha. He gulps, fidgeting under the man’s unwavering gaze.

“It is quite peculiar, jeune homme,” *(young man)* Sacha eventually says in a lofty tone. “As a tailor, I find paying attention to the smallest of details to be a crucial part of my job. Therefore, I find myself in quite the interesting predicament. I have not seen your face before, but I _have_ seen these clothes on another beautiful little boy whom I had the joy of meeting not three days ago.”

Harry knows the gig is up. He also has no clue what to say. The confidence he felt encountering the store owners and Hag in Knockturn Alley a lifetime ago is nowhere to be seen. Harry can only stand there and wait for the inevitable tongue lashing he’s going to receive.

“Now,” Sacha continues, using gentle hands to straighten Harry’s collar. “I admit, my first thoughts might have been of a suspicious variety. However. I trust Lady Malfoy and I trust that polite young man that came in here all by himself. So. That led me to only one conclusion.”

“Sir…” Is all Harry can say. He trails off even more uncertainly when Sacha’s intense eyes pierce into his.

“When I said I looked forward to seeing you again, I had no inkling it would be so soon… Monsieur Evans,” Sacha says quietly, and to Harry’s immense chagrin, a hand comes up to gently brush aside the disguised hair hanging over his infamous scar. “Or should I say, Heir Potter?”

Harry can’t help the crack in his whispered response. “You knew?”

Sacha gives him a soft smile. “I did.”

Then Harry’s hair probably had failed to keep the scar hidden when he was changing clothes that day. Why hadn’t the man said anything? Is that the only reason he gave Harry clothes at a reduced price? Because he’s The Boy-Who-Lived?

The man’s face tilts, a shadow falling over it as he examines Harry. “Clothing aside, Heir Potter… I would know those eyes anywhere. The windows to the soul never lie.”

“But…! But they’re a different color!”

“Yes. Yet they are the same.”

Harry’s breath catches. Does that mean… Does Sacha see what Harry sees?

“There is also the matter of a certain friend that keeps poking his head up.”

Harry’s hand automatically shoots to his chest where, sure enough, Forest is higher than he should be and only now does Harry realize how close Forest’s snout is to the top of Harry’s collar.

 **Forest!** Harry scolds, trying to move the snake back into hiding.

 **I’m sorry, hatchling** , Forest says, though he doesn’t sound all that apologetic. **He smells so good!**

 **You’re so not helping me keep everything secret!** Harry squeaks, panicking all over again over how he’s going to keep Forest and the dragon hidden at Hogwarts.

“Stop your fretting, chéri garçon,” *(darling boy)* Sacha interrupts, setting careful hands on Harry’s shoulders, encouraging the boy to look up. “My lips are sealed. As I said, what happens at Twilfitt and Tattings, oui?”

Harry nibbles at his lip while Sacha simply maintains eye contact. Slowly, Harry sees the man’s sincerity. He sags. “Thank you, Sacha.”

The man’s expression softens even more. “What happened to you and your parents was unforgiveable. You, Heir Potter, are a miracle, even in my home country on the continent. You can imagine my surprise when later in the evening after your visit, I heard gossip of the young Boy-Who-Lived’s long awaited return, and what an odd little hero you were with your baggy clothes and small stature.”

Harry shrinks away a bit, cheeks flaming with the description of him that had circulated enough around the Alley that Sacha heard it.

“Now now, none of that, darling,” Sacha chides with a light touch on Harry’s chin to get him to make eye contact once more. “Do not let others’ opinions affect you so. You are a sweet boy with a heart that will change the world. And, fortunately for you, you have a friend that will make you look fabulous as you do so. Oui?”

Despite feeling quite out of sorts, Harry manages a weak, agreeing, “Yes.”

“Good. Now, as tempted as I am to give you a new wardrobe that will properly match your _natural_ complexion, whatever that may be, I believe you three have other business to take care of today. Let’s get you ringed up.”

The Malfoys are waiting as Clair finishes wrapping and shrinking their packages, which relieves Harry as he realizes he and Sacha had been talking for some time. With his outer robe back on and his new, perfectly fitted coat now wrapped up and stowed with Draco’s clothes, Harry pays and watches as the adults say their goodbyes.

“Madame Malfoy, Heir Malfoy, it has been a pleasure as always. Do have a delightful day and come see us again soon, won’t you?”

“Wouldn’t go anywhere else, Monsieur Bellamy,” Lady Malfoy says, returning the man’s kiss on the cheeks.

“As if we’d go to Madam Malkin’s,” Draco scoffs, running a smoothing hand down his impeccable robe.

Sacha gives him a little, acknowledging bow. “You flatter me, young Malfoy. I thank you.”

Draco gives him an elegant shrug. “It is a simple fact. The woman can’t tell one end of a needle from the other.”

“Draco,” Lady Malfoy scolds. “That is impolite.”

Draco pouts up at her. “I still have a scar from that one fitting, Mother!”

Although she looks like she might want to sigh at her son’s lack of decorum, Lady Malfoy refrains, instead smiling down at Harry then Sacha. “Let’s be off, shall we? Monsieur.”

“Madame,” Sacha nods. He winks at Harry, bidding him adieu with an, “Until next time, Monsieur Harrison.”

“Is there anywhere else you wished to go, Harrison? Draco?” Lady Malfoy asks when they’re back on the main street.

Harry thinks over his options, once again considering the book shops, but Draco beats him to it.

“Can we go back to the Menagerie, Mother? We did not get nearly enough treats for Hedwig.”

“You mustn’t spoil her, Draco,” Lady Malfoy scolds, nevertheless shepherding them towards the Magical Menagerie.

“I won’t!” Draco denies. “But she is the best, and therefore, deserves all the treats she wants.”

“We shall see,” is all his mother allows. “It is better for her to hunt than to fill up on treats.”

“It’s just in case,” Draco sighs, exasperated.

Harry listens to them both, feeling jealousy stir at their parent-child dynamic.

He would give anything to have someone that cared enough about him to lay down rules over little things like owl treats.

The only rules he’s ever been given set him up for failure and hurt; they never helped him.

Mood sufficiently dampened, he follows the Malfoys into the pet shop.

It’s just as loud as he remembers it, even though there are fewer people inside than last time. The Malfoys go to the owl section and Harry meanders around the edge of the shop. He doesn’t go so far back this time, not really in the mood to be talking to depressed snakes and having to tell them that no, he can’t take them with him.

A tall boy with tight curls of hair that bounce with his excitement leaves the tarantula terrariums and passes Harry. An employee follows behind him, an animal transport box in hand.

The employee questions Harry if he needs help finding anything. Harry declines and heads back towards the front of the shop.

He spots the Malfoys having what appears to be a small argument over an indoor, three-tiered owl roost. He approaches, only to find his attention drifting to the pen holding kittens. As he gets closer, it’s clear most of the kittens from before have found homes. The only ones remaining are two Tabbies, a Siamese, and one that makes Harry’s heart thump: the little black kitten with a white stain on her forehead.

Without really thinking about it, Harry’s dangling his hand in the pen, making little “pss pss pss” sounds. Preoccupied as they are with tackling each other, the Siamese and Tabbies don’t take note of Harry’s efforts, but their tiny sister does.

With a miniscule meow, she abandons the toy she’d been playing with and comes forward to bat at Harry’s wiggling fingers.

 **That is not the language of snakes, hatchling** , Forest hisses in confusion, rising up just enough to be heard.

 **I’m not speaking parseltongue** , Harry hisses back, thankful that to anyone else, it may sound like he’s saying more kitten-enticing nonsense. **I’m speaking kitten.**

**I don’t think that’s what felines sound like either.**

**I know** , Harry says, smiling broadly when the kitten grips his hand and tries to hoist herself up. **Humans make that sound when talking to cats.**

**How odd.**

**Yeah** , Harry agrees absently, giving in and picking up the kitten. She immediately cranes and wiggles to get near his chest, so he cuddles her closer, letting himself melt into her adorableness.

 **Are you taking another hatchling?** Forest asks, excitement evident as he rises a little more to see the kitten.

Harry braces himself for the kitten to use her claws to get away from the snake. He’s shocked, however, when she sniffs Forest with a twitchy, pink nose before ignoring him and going back to rubbing her cheeks against Harry’s robe.

After that display, Harry can’t possibly say anything other than, **Yesss. She’s coming with us.**

Hearing Forest’s overjoyed hissing, Harry notices the three other kittens are unbothered by their sister’s absence. Feeling even more assured, he clutches kitten with one hand and turns, finding the Malfoys to be finished with their argument. Draco appears to have lost as he’s sans a fancy owl roost.

“Did you know there’s a ball of fur on your shoulder?” Draco so helpfully points out to Harry when they’re close enough to hear each other.

Lady Malfoy leans closer, face smooth and voice neutral except for a faint undercurrent of adoration that makes Harry squirm. “Is that a kitten, Harrison?”

Said kitten lifts her head up from Harry’s collar and gives the woman a faint chirp before snuffling back against him. Harry doesn’t think he’s imagining the twinkling in Lady Malfoy’s eyes now or the amusement Draco’s failing to hide.

“Can I keep her?” Harry asks, giving Lady Malfoy his best pleading eyes, already knowing that if she says no, he’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron by nightfall. No way can he leave the kitten behind again. He’ll make it work having three animals to look after. Somehow.

“You may, if you are ready to take full responsibility for her,” Lady Malfoy says, making sure Harry is listening carefully. “The elves can supply you with food and such until you get to Hogwarts; but I warn you, should she cause any damage in the manor, it will be up to you to fix it. Do you find that agreeable?”

Harry’s hair flies with the force of his nod. She’s treating him having an animal exactly like she did with Draco! Bubbling warmth suffuses through him. “Yes, ma’am, I promise!”

“Good. We should still obtain some source of sustenance for her while we’re here.”

A few minutes later, they’re in line, Harry balancing a collar on the packets of kitten food with his available hand. The Malfoys go before him as Harry refused to let Lady Malfoy pay for his purchases yet again. The two step aside to wait when they’re done, and Harry steps up to the counter, content kitten held close to his chest.

“Ah, you got the runt!” The attendant says when she spots the purring mound. “I was hoping someone would pick her up soon.”

“I like her,” Harry says firmly, not liking the kitten being called a ‘runt’. After completing the transaction using his vault card, Harry tries to hand the kitten over to be placed in the transport carrier, only to wince when she gives a pitiful meow and grips on to his clothing as tight as possible without using her claws. After a few moments spent attempting to dislodge her, Harry eventually gives the grinning attendant a sheepish smile. “Um, maybe I’ll hold on to her instead.”

The attendant tries to contain her laughter. “Sure, kid. I’ll shrink the carrier down for ya, how’s that? In case she gets antsy.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, letting the kitten return to burying into his neck. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She hands his wrapped package over with a smile. “Take care, kid.”

“You too,” Harry nods before stepping out of the way.

“She doesn’t want to go in the carrier,” Harry tells the amused Malfoys.

“I don’t blame her,” Lady Malfoy says. She swishes her wand and Harry’s belongings shrink, joining Draco’s owl treats in her robes. Nodding primly, she exits the shop, both boys hurrying after her. 

“What are you going to name it?” Draco asks, walking next to Harry and sending the kitten surreptitious looks.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Harry admits, using both hands to support his kitten’s body and simultaneously shield her from curious onlookers.

“You could call her Hairy Potter,” Draco suggest nonchalantly. It takes Harry a few moments for the pun to register and when it does, he gives Draco such an appalled look that the blonde breaks out in hysterics, startling several people passing by.

“Your face!” He cackles, ignoring his mother’s disapproving look.

“She has fur, not hair,” Harry pouts. “It wouldn’t make sense.”

Draco coughs once before getting his breathing and face back under control. “I can help you choose a proper name if you want. Though, nothing will be as good as my Artemis.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, refraining from rolling his eyes, because he is grateful for Draco’s offer despite how ludicrous his first suggestion was.

Draco heaves out a calming breath, posture back to normal. “What does Forest think of the kitten?”

“He’s happy. He has a thing about collecting hatchlings.”

“Hatchlings?”

“That’s what he calls any animal or person that’s young.”

“Sounds like being called a ‘baby’.”

Harry shrugs his unoccupied shoulder. “It’s just what snakes say.”

“Hmm.”

They pass the Apothecary and Harry suddenly remembers something very important.

“Draco, do you think we could stop in the Apothecary?”

“What for? You already got a First Year’s kit.”

“For the potion to fix my eyesight,” Harry says before his face scrunches in uncertainty. “Unless they don’t sell it?”

“Oh that,” Draco replies, already tugging Harry away from the Apothecary. “Don’t worry, Harrison, Mother and Father have already taken care of it.”

Harry stops in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

“I told them you wanted it, so they ordered it from my godfather. His potions are far superior to the ones offered anywhere else. Except Saint Mungo’s. Although, he brews for them as well, so there’s little difference.”

“They didn’t need to do that! I was fine paying for it!”

“Then you can pay them back,” Draco dismisses. “Though I doubt they’ll let you.”

Harry wants to tug on his hair. Why are the Malfoys doing all of this for him?! They gave him a bed and three meals a day, that’s more than he ever expected from anyone!

“Besides,” Draco continues. “Uncle Sev loves brewing the eyesight correction potion. It’s much more interesting than the ones he brews for the Hogwarts hospital wing or teaches during classes.”

Harry’s brain short-circuits, connecting dots he hadn’t realized existed. “He’s a professor?”

“Hmm?” Draco asks, his attention on avoiding a rambunctious child with chocolate-covered hands. “Yes, at Hogwarts.”

“He’s the potions professor?”

“Yes,” Draco frowns lightly.

“The potions professor at Hogwarts.”

Draco finally rounds on him, annoyance clear. “What in Merlin’s name are you prattling on about, Harrison? Yes, my godfather is Severus Snape, potions professor and Head of Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the youngest person in the world to receive his Potions Mastery, and probably the best potion maker since Salazar Slytherin himself. I call him Uncle Sev, which he absolutely hates. Now what part about that is confusing you?”

“N-nothing,” Harry nearly chokes. “Not confused at all.”

Draco crosses his arms. “He happens to be good friends with my parents.”

Does that mean Harry’s godfather knows the Malfoys were Death Eaters? Does that mean… Is Snape a Death Eater too?

“Of course, I don’t see him very often,” Draco slouches, apparently over Harry’s odd reaction. “Especially not around this time of year. He’s too preoccupied with preparing lessons and brewing to spend any time with me.”

The blonde gives a haughty sniff riddled with indignation, but Harry can tell he really does miss the man.

For some reason, Harry tries to cheer him up. “That… I mean… You’ll get to see him all the time soon, right? At Hogwarts?”

Draco stands taller at that. “You’re right. And Yule. He usually comes around the manor _if_ Mother is convincing enough and Father bribes him.”

Harry’s not sure if he should laugh. If the Malfoys are forced to bribe him, does Snape actually want to spend time with them? Is he _really_ their friend and a good godfather to Draco? Harry remembers his encounter with the man in Slug and Jiggers, recalling how biting the man was until they started talking about potions.

Maybe he just doesn’t like talking to other people very much.

But then why would his parents make him one of Harry’s godparents?

Wait, can he even be his godfather is he’s Draco’s godfather as well?

What if he only became Draco’s godfather because he didn’t want to be Harry’s?

But no, Draco’s older than him, so Snape would have been asked by the Malfoys before Harry’s parents did.

Maybe?

Unless they never got around to asking or telling him before everything happened.

Harry’s head spins. Why does it have to be so confusing? Why can’t he have a normal, happy family?!

_It’s not fair._

And it’s never going to change.

Harry sucks in a deep breath, getting a grip. Even if he does get a new guardian, he’s never going to be happy, not like Draco is with his parents, or Dudley with his. Harry will just have to deal with not having parents.

Not being loved.

And that’s fine.

Perfectly. Fine.

***

Harry decides against going by one of the bookshops when it occurs to him that he should check the Malfoy library first before spending more money. With no other errands to run, the three of them return to Malfoy Manor.

Harry thanks Lady Malfoy for letting him go with them to the Alley, then makes a beeline for his bedroom with his unshrunk purchases and animal attachments.

Forest immediately slithers out from under Harry’s clothes and onto the bed. The kitten on the other hand, does not want to be put down. At all.

“I can’t hold on to you forever,” Harry murmurs at her, even though that’s exactly what he wishes he could do.

 **Why not? You hold on to me all the time,** Forest supplies, laughing at the sight Harry and the kitten make.

 **I think you’re more the one holding on to me, Forest** , Harry snorts. Making sure the kitten is supported, Harry sets down his purchases and empties out his pockets.

**The _fluffyfurball_ needs a proper name. **

**Do you have an idea for one besides _fluffyfurball_?**

**I do not.** Forest confesses. **I do not know if she is a good hunter, or has sharp teeth, or pounces fast.**

**True. Maybe we should just call her Snuggles. She likes to do that.**

**That’s not intimidating at all!**

**Well she’s not very intimidating, is she? Not like you.**

**Hmm. Very true.**

There’s a knock on the door frame. Harry turns to find Draco there.

“Training to be a magizoologist, Harrison?”

Harry’s not too sure what a magizoologist is, but the false name reminds him that he’s still in disguise. He lets his features pale coloring bleed back to normal, amused by Draco’s disgruntled yet awed expression. His glasses pinch his nose, and he spends a moment bending the pads wider.

“Think you can detach the little monster long enough to join us for lunch?” the blonde asks, watching him.

“Yeah!” Harry says, scrunching his face a bit to test his glasses. They fit. “Let me just… Try…Um…” He attempts to coax the kitten out of her hiding place only to be met with depressing pleas to stay. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right down.”

Draco gives him a bemused, doubtful look before he leaves Harry to it.

Under Forest’s suggestion to heat up the bed and let him watch the kitten, Harry is finally able to set the little thing down where she promptly disappears into the fluffy bedding and Forest’s coils.

 **Don’t eat her** , Harry jokingly says on his way out the door.

**No promisessss.**

*******

Harry walks with Draco down to lunch and is mildly surprised to find Lord Malfoy already there deep in discussion with Lady Malfoy. The two adults trail off when the boys approach, though the atmosphere remains light as they tuck into their meal.

That is, until Lord Malfoy turns to Harry.

“I heard you picked up a troublemaker, Heir Potter.”

Harry’s breath catches, fear bubbling forth. “She’s not in trouble, I mean, she hasn’t caused any trouble; she’s no trouble!”

“Relax, Heir Potter, it was a term of endearment, I assure you,” Lord Malfoy says, holding up a placating hand. “Although, from what I’ve heard, well-behaved felines are a rare find.”

Harry sits back, feeling a bit silly for getting worked up. “She’s really sweet. Didn’t like when I made her let go.”

“We may have to teach you the charm to remove pet hair from your clothing,” Lady Malfoy teases, though her eyes show how serious she is on the offer.

Harry smiles back. “I’d appreciate that.”

Apparently, that’s the extent of their conversation on the matter, which leaves Harry reeling long after they move on to the next topic.

“What of your snake, Draco?” Lord Malfoy asks his son. “How is it adjusting?”

“She’s fine, Father,” Draco says, sitting up straighter. “After hunting yesterday, she watched me play chess. She’s in my room now; she didn’t leave when I tried to let her out.”

Harry offers to ask Artemis if she’d like to go roaming with Forest, as he hasn’t gone hunting either. Draco readily agrees, and the conversation moves on from there until the end of the meal.

***

Because Lady Malfoy doesn’t want them flying so soon after eating, Harry returns to his room while the Malfoys go about their own tasks. He spends the next few hours reading _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_.

“There’s a charm that tickles someone so much, they can’t stop laughing,” Harry muses, reading the details listed on the page for _Rictumsempra_. “Did you know that, **_fluffyfurball_**?”

The kitten stops licking her paw long enough to chirp at him before she gets back to her cleaning regimen. It’s just the two of them in the room, Forest having left with Artemis to find something to eat.

“I didn’t know either,” Harry continues. “Course, I didn’t know a lot of things…”

He turns the page, absorbing all of the information about the General Counter-Spell, _Finite_ or _Finite Incantatem_ , depending on what he’s trying to stop. “That’s useful,” he murmurs to himself, scanning the wand movement diagram.

He turns the page, simultaneously happy yet disappointed to find it is the book’s glossary. He sighs then groans, stretching his back out of the hunched position he’d been in.

“Should we go find Draco and Lady Malfoy?” He asks his companion, grinning when she stands up bounding towards the side of the bed where she meows at him.

He scoops her up, allowing himself to return her nuzzling since there’s no one else around to see him do it.

He ventures through the halls, guessing that his targets may be in the library or the garden. He checks the library first, immediately feeling the odd tugging sensation in his chest. When he doesn’t spot his targets in the library, he regrettably leaves, frowning when the tugging snaps away as it had the last time.

Making a note to himself to investigate that peculiarity further, Harry heads to the garden, happy when he spots mother and son walking through the maze.

Draco spots him first, turning from his mother to tease Harry. “Finally done, are you?”

Harry hopes Draco’s not actually annoyed with him. It’s hard to tell sometimes. “I finished my book, yeah.”

“Which one were you reading?” Lady Malfoy asks.

“ _The Standard Book of Spells_ for our year,” Harry supplies, meandering towards them.

“I already taught you how to cast half of what’s in that book,” Draco rolls his eyes. “I could have shown you the rest.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder, adjusting his hold on the kitten. “I wanted to read it. We have to for school anyway.”

“Did you and your study partner learn much, then?” Lady Malfoy questions lightly, watching the little thing tilt her head up to sniff a passing breeze.

He huffs. “Yeah. Kind of. She’d rather walk all over the pages than read them, I think.”

“Cats,” Draco snorts.

“Hmmm,” Lady Malfoy hums. “Why don’t you two boys practice your spellwork. I can answer any questions you may have, Harry.”

Harry voices his appreciation, grinning when Draco mutters under his breath about his own competence at answering questions and wanting to play quidditch.

In quick succession, Lady Malfoy sits down in the gazebo and requests Cadby the house elf to bring her tea, all the while transfiguring a few stones from the garden path into an open-aired enclosure that Harry sets the kitten down in, allowing her to adventure through the grass and some of the bushes.

A few more stones become pillows for Harry and Draco to practice the remaining spells from the book. Their incantations ring through the air, occasionally interspersed with Draco or Lady Malfoy’s tutelage and advice. She does in fact end up teaching him the charm for removing fur from his robes, _Tersu_ _s_. It takes him several tries, until he finally manages it, and the proud look she gives him makes his chest swell.

When the boys eventually exhaust themselves, they sit and recuperate with tea, biscuits, and sandwiches in the gazebo, kitten cozied up in Harry’s lap.

Harry finds himself looking out over the grounds, trying to make out any details in the stables or lake, disappointed when his eyes won’t make out anything other than colored blobs.

Perhaps she notices his struggle, or purely by coincidence, for Lady Malfoy speaks up just then. “Severus will be bringing your eyesight correction potion in a few days, Harry. It takes some time to brew.”

Harry pauses before he remembers his manners. He tries to voice as much of his gratitude and concern as possible. “It was really nice of you to ask him to make it, Lady Malfoy. How much was it?”

“Not a sum you should be worried about,” she tuts, gently. “It is a parent’s responsibility to help their child however they can. You owe us nothing.”

Harry’s eyes water and his throat suddenly feels thick. He doesn’t understand! How can they think of him like…like _family_?! The Dursleys _never_ thought of him like that and he’d lived with them for ten years! He’s known the Malfoys a couple days!

“Are you sure?” He eventually manages to rasp.

Lady Malfoy’s head tilts down with a smile so _warm_ Harry’s forced to clench his jaw. “Never been more so.”

Harry blinks rapidly, briefly making eye contact with Draco who is frowning. Harry looks away again, not wanting the other boy to see his weakness. He gives Lady Malfoy a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

***

“I told you,” Draco says when the two of them are walking to the broom shed. “My parents would never make you pay them back for anything.”

Harry pulls at the padding of his quidditch robe, glad that Forest and Artemis were finished with their roaming and been willing to watch the kitten while the boys went flying before dinner.

“I know, I know, Draco. You are truly brilliant,” he jokes before becoming serious. “So are your parents, Draco. You’re really lucky.”

Draco eyes him for a moment then looks forward once more. “I know.”

Harry’s stress melts away once the two of them are up in the air and zooming around the pitch. They race and dive around the pitch the rest of the afternoon, returning to their rooms to change for dinner, both boys sweaty and happy.

***

Dinner is a quick affair, after which Harry drags himself back upstairs to get ready for bed while Forest monitors the kitten as she eats her own feast.

In bed, Harry’s immediately pounced on by the mischievous fluff, spending a few minutes scratching her fuzzy ears and confusing her with his wiggling fingers.

“I still don’t know what to name you,” he tells her, smoothing a hand over her side when she flops over. She lets him pet her three times before she bats at his hand, contracting all four limbs to bring his fingers close to her gnawing but harmless teeth.

 **How about _BiterOfHands_? It is a respectable name**, Forest suggests, watching the kitten track his swishing tail.

Harry chuffs. **I was thinking maybe something like Raven.**

Forest recoils away from him, startling the kitten and sending her away to look for another victim. **You want to name her after a _bird?_**

**Kind of? I mean, she’s black like a raven and it would be like Ravenclaw… It kind of fits.**

**I don’t approve** , Forest sniffs. **Besides, she is a feline, not a bird. If anything, you should name her after the House of Lions.**

Harry scrunches his nose at that particular suggestion, not feeling a connection to it at all.

Forest registers his distaste. **How about Blacky?**

**I dunno… reminds me of Sirius Black.**

**Inky?**

**She’s not _all_ black though…**

**Spot.**

**It’s not really a spot, it’s more of a smudge.**

**Smudge, then?**

**That sounds mean.**

**Nighty.**

**Maybe.**

**Shadow.**

**Cool, but not quite…**

**Moon.**

**Eh.**

**Twig.**

**No. I like the nature idea though.**

**A flower perhaps. You love your gardens.**

**I do…** Harry watches the kitten closely, taking in her luminous yellow eyes that have green and gold flecks around the irises.

 **Daisy** , he decides. “I’ll name you Daisy.”

The newly dubbed Daisy pauses in her hunt for Harry’s concealed toes, chirping at him and bounding up the bed to leap onto his stomach.

“Do you like it?” he asks her, giggling— _honestly giggling_ —when she rubs her fuzzy cheeks against his face, brushing up and knocking his glasses askew.

 **I like it,** Forest compliments. **It goes well with my own name. She is a puny flower and I am many, mighty trees. It is perfect.**

Harry laughs again, setting his glasses on the bedside table and giving the purring kitten his full attention.

***

Waking up to a kitten roaming over his face and batting his nose was a new experience for Harry.

It had startled him at first, thinking it was Uncle Vernon grabbing him. When he finally remembered where he was, he nudged Daisy away and tried to cuddle her against his chest. She allowed it for all of thirty seconds before squirming out and rushing back up to meow in his face.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, still half asleep.

 **I believe the furball is hungry, hatchling.** Forest’s amused hissing says.

Harry opens one squinting eye to see Forest still tucked under the sheets save for his head laying on top the duvet. He’s watching Daisy’s antics with lazy interest.

Harry huffs then raises his head from the wonderous pillow, calling out in a scratchy voice. “Dobby?”

There’s a small pop and Harry can see drooping ears and the tops of bulbous, green eyes peering up at Harry over the edge of the bed. “Good morning, Young Master Savior, sir. How can Dobby be helping you?”

Harry wants to roll his eyes at the address, cursing Draco. “You can just call me Harry, Dobby.”

Dobby looks at him, aghast. “Dobby can’t be doing that! He already had to punish himself for not knowing he was in the presence of His Greatness. Dobby is not worthy of calling our Savior by his first name!”

Alarmed, Harry sits up. He knows Dobby had mentioned punishing himself before and had tried to bash his head into the bed right in front of Harry. When he sees that Dobby has bandages around his spindly hands, he loses all remnants of sleep.

“Dobby! What did you do to your hands?!”

Dobby looks down at the mentioned appendages, then up at Harry with clear confusion. “I ironed them, Young Master Savior, sir.”

Now even Forest is alert. “What?! Why would you do that to yourself?” Harry questions. “You didn’t deserve that!”

“Of course I did, sir,” Dobby says, tilting his head. “Dobby was a bad elf. Bad elves be being punished.”

Harry pushes away Uncle Vernon’s cruel voice reminding him that _bad, freakish boys need to be punished properly_. He nudges Daisy aside so he can lift the covers and slide down to kneel in front of the bewildered house-elf.

“Dobby,” he asks quietly. “Did any of the Malfoys ask you to punish yourself?”

Somehow, Dobby’s eyes become even wider. He shakes his head furiously, ears slapping his face as they flap. “No, Your Greatness! My masters are good, good masters! They don’t tell Dobby to punish himself, but Dobby knows he was a bad elf, so he did it so they would not be needing to say it.”

Harry frowns at Dobby’s thought process. “I don’t think they’d want you to hurt yourself. Everybody makes mistakes. And you didn’t even really make a mistake! How were you to know who I was? No one’s seen me for ten years.”

The house-elf bows his head, fingertips fretting at each other.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Harry reaffirms. “Please don’t hurt yourself again for something silly like that. For anything.”

He’s a bit taken back when he hears a sniffle and a dribble of snot is wiped away by a bandaged hand. “Young Master Savior is so kind!” Dobby practically wails. “Too kind! Yous be the Greatest-Boy-Who-Be-Living!”

Harry forces away his uncomfortableness at being called that title again. “Just Harry, Dobby.”

Dobby sniffles once more, gazing at Harry with adoration as he eventually acquiesces. “Young Master Harry. What was you be needing Dobby for?”

He huffs a bit at Dobby’s continued use of ‘Master’ when addressing Harry, but he supposes that’s the best he’s going to get. And, ah, that’s right, they’d gotten a bit off track, hadn’t they? He smiles when Daisy gives him a reminding meow. “Could we please have some more food for Daisy? And maybe some water for her as well?”

Dobby’s delighted eyes fall on the kitten watching them from above. “Dobby be doing that right away, Young Master Harry!”

He disappears with a pop and reappears not ten seconds later with dishes of food and water.

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry says, helping Daisy off the bed. She chows down as soon as her paws hit the ground. Harry looks back to the house-elf’s hands. “Dobby, will you let me heal your hands?”

Dobby suddenly looks uncertain, drawing his hands close to his chest and worrying them. “Dobby can heal them, but Dobby doesn’t want to. They are a reminder, Young Master Harry.” When Harry gives him a pointed look, the elf wilts. “Yous be right, sir. Dobby be listening to His Greatness.”

With one strained snap of his fingers, Dobby banishes the bandages, revealing raw, blistered skin that makes Harry cringe. Another snap, however, and the wounds heal, new skin bubbling and spreading until it all appears undamaged.

Harry beams at the nervous elf, garnering him a shaky one in return.

“Can Dobby be getting you anything else?”

“No, thank you, Dobby. I’ll get dressed and go down to breakfast soon. In case the Malfoys ask.”

With a nod and reverent smile, Dobby disappears, leaving Harry with his other crazy creatures.

 **Your kindness knows no bounds, hatchling** , Forest says, only a hint of teasing sprinkled in with his pride. **The odd creature is lucky to have your wisdom.**

Harry looks away, as always, uncomfortable with praise. **He’ll get better the longer he’s away from his first family… Crouch or whoever it was Draco mentioned.**

 **Yesssss** , Forest hisses, eyeing Harry with an emotion the boy doesn’t understand. **He will heal.**

Harry’s head jerks. What does that mean? Dobby already healed himself.

 **What do you want to do today?** He asks instead, standing up and going to his wardrobe, adjusting the strength of the egg’s shield.

**Perhaps roam with _beautifulscales_ again.**

**Draco named her Artemis,** Harry absently tells him, pulling out a dark blue button down shirt and pressed, gray trousers.

 **He can call her what he wants** , Forest says, flicking his tail. **I will call her what she is.**

Harry chuckles, feeling in the mood to tease his friend. **Is she your girlfriend?**

**Sssnakes don’t have girlfriends or boyfriends as you silly humans do _,_ hatchling. We have _matesss._**

Harry’s brow furrows. **A mate? Like a friend?**

**No, like a _mate_ mate.**

**Dudley called his friend, Piers, his mate.**

**That rat was not the pig’s _mate_ mate.**

**…I’m confused.**

**You’ll understand when your scales grow.**

**If you say so,** Harry shrugs, pulling on his shoes. Daisy has nearly finished, spilling a few bits and droplets in the process, though nothing Harry can’t make disappear.

“What do you think, Daisy?” He asks her, stroking the fur down on her back. “Do you want to come to breakfast with me?”

She butts against his hand then scurries under the bed, looking for who knows what.

 **Perhaps not** , Forest says, watching them. **Furballs do not have the best manners.**

 **That’s for sure,** Harry snorts. Maybe he shouldn’t bring her; he doesn’t know how the Malfoys will react to having her around the breakfast table. **Are you okay staying here with her for a bit?**

 **I ssssupose,** Forest sighs, already lowering himself down the bedframe to the floor. He slithers in between two of Harry’s shoe boxes, hissing as he advances. **Come out, come out, _fluffyfurball_ , you cannot hide from me.**

Grinning, Harry leaves them to it, stopping briefly in the bathroom to straighten his clothes and run an ineffectual hand through his wild hair before he leaves his room.

***

“Lady Zabini will be stopping by this afternoon,” Lady Malfoy informs the boys as they sit down for breakfast. Lord Malfoy has already left for the day.

“Is Blaise coming over?” Draco asks.

“She did not mention his attendance, so I assume he is not.”

Draco slouches, so Harry tries to cheer him up. “You and I can do something, Draco. Maybe you can show me the stables, or we could fly over to the lake?” He immediately casts a worried look at Lady Malfoy, fearing he’s overstepping boundaries. “If that’s okay?”

Lady Malfoy nods at the same time Draco shares his exuberant agreement.

“I do not have any matters that need attending this morning,” she goes on to say. “We can go riding, if you’d like?”

So that’s how, after Forest agrees it would be best for all animals involved if he and Daisy didn’t go to the stables, Harry ends up saddled on a horse named Hercules that Lady Malfoy informs him is of a breed called Friesian. Harry is exhilarated and slightly terrified, especially when the mighty beast heaves a sigh that stretches his massive chest, displacing Harry some, before he stomps his back hoof and settles once more.

Trying to calm himself, Harry seeks out Draco, finding him trotting around on a red and white Paint Horse named Neptune. The blonde is very much at ease, looking regal in a riding uniform identical to Harry’s. Watching how fast the pair moves, Harry feels antsy to get started.

“Don’t fret, Harry,” Lady Malfoy says as she gracefully steps up on to her own horse’s back, a Thoroughbred named Sol. Apparently the golden horse is really good at racing. “Hercules will take care of you. Just make sure you hold on tight and keep your balanced centered.”

Harry hastily nods, squeezing the leather lead in his hands even more. Lady Malfoy steers Sol around Harry and Hercules, making a clicking sound with her tongue that encourages Hercules to start following them.

They join Draco and Neptune who slow to a leisurely pace and come up on the other side of Harry. Draco smirks when he sees how wary Harry is acting and tells him that horses sense fear, so quit being a baby.

Despite the crass method of encouragement, Harry does find himself calming. The melodic sounds of the horses’ hooves against the lush grass is nice.

They make their way through a vast field towards the lake. At some points, Draco gets bored with the slow pace and taps Neptune into a trot, leaving Harry and Lady Malfoy to make small conversation while their horses watch in envy as Sol enjoys his freedom.

The lake, as it turns out, is even larger than Harry previously thought. He can barely guess where the other side of it is; the calm reflection of the cloudy sky makes it even more difficult to discern. They make their way around it, meandering through the grove of trees on the opposite side and stopping to let the horses have a drink.

By then, Harry is feeling much more confident in his riding abilities- smarting inner-thighs aside. He gives in to Draco’s pressuring and decides to attempt a galloping pace, or atleast a trot. It starts off bumpy at first, making Harry feel like he’s going to fall. Hercules seems to feel his consternation and smooths his gait; a breathless laugh escaping Harry when he finds a steady rhythm of bouncing in tandem with Hercules. The sensation, coupled with the horse’s majestic black mane flowing out like a flag, is magnified tenfold when Harry looks over to find the Malfoys keeping pace on either side of them. They’re both smiling, even if the don’t look as giddy as Harry likely does.

It’s not flying, but Harry can’t find it in himself enough to care, not when he feels this wonderful.

This _powerful_.

***

They shower before lunch, a bow-legged Harry regaling Forest and Daisy with a rapid-fire debriefing of what it’s like to ride a horse and how they need to try it sometime, even if they have to stay hidden from the horses.

Since Daisy can’t respond, Forest takes over hissing teasing jibes at Harry.

**If you love Hercules so much, why don’t you ride off into the sunset together?**

Harry tilts his head in confusion. **If we left at sunset, it would get dark really soon, and then how would I know where we’re going?**

**It’s an expression, hatchling, it refers to mates going off to live happily ever after together.**

**Again, I don’t understand what mates you’re talking about** , Harry says, pulling on one of his nicer shirts. He’s going to be introduced to a new Lady from an important family in a few minutes; he needs to make a good impression.

**Mates are two beings that love each other or want to make hatchlings together.**

Harry’s face scrunches on reflex. **Yeah, Piers is definitely not Dudley’s mate. They’re both boys!**

 **And what’s wrong with that?** Forest questions, slithering closer with Daisy chasing after his tail.

 **Boys aren’t allowed to love each other** , Harry says, looking away. **Uncle Vernon said they’ll become diseased if they do and go to Hell when they die. Same with girls. Only a man and a woman are allowed to love each other and make babies.**

Forest hisses low and angry. **Even I know that is not correct, hatchling. Humans are often smart beings, but thinking _that_ is very stupid.**

Harry doesn’t look up from where he’s tying his shoes. **It’s what I was told.**

**I know. And now _I_ am _telling_ _you_ , hatchling, that that is wrong. There are many animals and humans who have mates the same as themselves. It is only silly humans that think there is something wrong with that.**

Harry doesn’t like where the conversation has turned. There had been a boy in his class, Phillip, who made Harry’s stomach flutter when the boy first transferred to their class and tried to talk to Harry. As always though, Dudley had found out about it. After scaring Phillip off, he told his parents that “Harry was being a poof”. It was a rare occasion when Uncle Vernon’s face turned as purple as it did, and Harry had suffered for weeks because of it.

He’d rather not think about everything screamed at him because he talked to Phillip, or how Dudley and his gang started calling him a poof or pansy whenever they saw him.

He’s introspective during lunch and quietly reads _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander afterwards with Forest and Daisy dozing nearby. He’s annoyed to find that Dumbledore wrote the foreword of the book. Not one to be deterred, especially not about creatures or something written by a hero, Harry reads on. He finds himself enjoying Mr. Scamander’s writing and drawings.

When Draco lets him know Lady Zabini has arrived and they’ve been asked to join the ladies for afternoon tea, Harry complies, following the boy down to one of the parlors.

Lady Zabini turns out to be nearly as tall as Lady Malfoy and just as elegant, though her skin is a beautiful bronze that reflects the room’s firelight.

“Ah, Zaneta, this is Heir Potter,” Lady Malfoy introduces when the boys enter the room. “Harry, this is Lady Zabini.”

Harry does what Draco taught him to be the appropriate response: a short bow over the woman’s supplied hand, giving a kiss to the air above her knuckles. “It is lovely to meet you, Lady Zabini.”

The woman scrutinizes him, barely giving the customary reciprocal bow in return.

“Such a handsome boy. And powerful too. Tell me, Heir Potter, have you already arranged a betrothal contract?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Harry stammers before he remembers the chapter on betrothal contracts in his heirship book. He resists the urge to stick out his tongue in distaste. “I don’t think so, no one’s mentioned any to me, Lady Zabini.”

“Hmmm. You have not been offered any, then?”

“No?” He better not have been sent a request to marry someone’s child! Unless… maybe he did receive some and Dumbledore has kept them?

He frowns just as Lady Zabini smiles faintly. “How fortuitous,” she says, before turning back to Lady Malfoy and taking a seat when it’s offered. The rest of them join her around the coffee table. “Draco and Astoria are aware of their betrothal, are they not, Cissa?”

Lady Malfoy ignores how Harry whips his head around to look at a calm Draco. “Draco has been informed, yes.”

Lady Zabini hums and addresses Lady Malfoy once more, leaving Draco free to give Harry an, ‘I’ll tell you later’ glance.

“Blaise has received several offers over the years. None have been worthy of the Zabini name.” A smile that twists Harry’s stomach overcomes the woman’s face. “Tell me, Heir Potter, are you inclined towards males or females?”

“Um,” is all Harry can say, wanting nothing more than to leave the room. He doesn’t want to go anywhere near this all over again, and he definitely doesn’t like the look in the woman’s eyes as they rove over his body. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

“Eleven is a fairly young to make that sort of decision,” Lady Malfoy cuts in, taking a sip of her tea and speaking pleasantly. “Harry has also not had a chance to meet many other of his future peers. I imagine he will decide on any contracts in a few years.”

Harry wants to feel hurt that Lady Malfoy is speaking for him and giving him a time limit for something he doesn’t even understand. He snaps away from that line of thought, deciding on being grateful for her interference in the moment.

Lady Zabini’s eyes widen. “Oh, well then he must meet Blaise. Draco, you are of course welcome to visit as well.”

“Thank you, Lady Zabini,” Draco nods.

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” Lady Zabini says to Lady Malfoy.

“That would be acceptable,” she agrees.

“Excellent. The boys can floo over before lunch. Blaise may wish to invite a few others as well; he has missed his little friends these past weeks.”

“I can imagine,” Lady Malfoy says. She takes note of how neither boy has touched the tea and food set out, and gives them an escape option. “Boys, I believe you had somewhere to be?”

“Yes, Mother.” Draco immediately stands, nodding his head once more towards Lady Zabini. “Good see you, Lady Zabini.”

“As always, Draco,” the woman says to Draco without further acknowledgement. She turns to Harry when he gets to his feet. He strains to keep himself relaxed and not look like prey. “It was a _pleasure_ to meet you, Heir Potter. I look forward to your visit tomorrow.”

Harry swallows hard, head jerking in a semblance of a small bow as etiquette demands. “It was nice to meet you too, Lady Zabini. Have a good day.”

The corner of her mouth curls and Harry is greatly relieved when Draco steers him out of the room.

“That woman creeps me out,” Draco says the moment the door closes and they’re out of hearing range. “I don’t know how Blaise turned out to be as normal as he is with that woman as his mother.”

Harry is happy he’s not the only one the woman disturbs. Although, a small part of him thinks that maybe Blaise really is like her but hides it well. Or he’s too young to be as creepy as her. He is Draco’s friend though, so Harry won’t say anything. Especially not since he hasn’t even met Blaise yet.

“At least you get to see him tomorrow,” Harry says.

“Yes,” Draco cheers. “And since his mother’s letting him invite others, I bet everyone I want you to meet will be there.”

Harry nods. “What was that about your betrothal to someone?”

“Oh, Astoria, yeah,” Draco says, blasé. “It was decided a few years ago. The Greengrass name is respectable and her dowry was impressive.”

“Have you ever met her?”

“A few times. I’m friends with Daphne, her older sister. Daphne, Theo, and Pansy will probably be there tomorrow since they get back in the morning.” Harry must not be doing a great job of hiding his chagrin, because Draco snorts. “Don’t worry about it, Harry. It’s just a betrothal. I don’t actually have to marry her if I don’t want to. In any case, nothing’s going to happen until she’s seventeen.”

“If you say so,” Harry says, yelling at himself to find more information on betrothal contracts stat.

***

“You didn’t tell me your new friend was HARRY POTTER!”

The words screech around the Zabini Manor main hall and Harry cringes under the shrill cry as well as the awed looks he’s getting from Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Theo Nott, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Tracey Davis, Terrence Higgs, Millicent Bulstrode, and Pansy Parkinson.

He’s not entirely pleased to be spending the day away from his books, but he realizes socializing with his future classmates is important. He will also admit to himself that he wants to make more friends.

“Well of course, I didn’t, Pans, I wanted to see your reaction in person,” Draco jeers, obviously loving every moment of this. “Now I’m especially glad. You all look like drowning fish!”

Blaise is the first one to snap out of his stupor. He gives Harry a roguish smile. “Sorry about that, Heir Potter. I’m sure you get that reaction everywhere you go.”

Harry dearly wants to crumple under all the attention or floo back to Malfoy Manor where Forest and Daisy are probably perfectly relaxed and happy in his room. “It’s fine,” he replies, trying not to murmur. “And you can call me Harry. If you want.”

Blaise grins even wider and returns the offer, followed quickly by everyone else until Harry’s on first name basis with likely the whole new class of Slytherin First Years.

Blaise steers them all to the outside patio where morning tea has been set out for them on the twelve-seat wood table. To Harry’s mortification, there’s a subtle, brief scuffle to decide who gets to sit next to him. Thankfully, Draco and Blaise win out, which in Harry’s mind is a much better alternative to Pansy who keeps craning her neck around Draco to look at Harry.

Malfoy steers the conversation from the get-go, prying all the gossip he can from anyone while questioning what they did on their holidays. Unknown to Harry, the Malfoys had apparently gone on a trip to Italy earlier in the year as well. They’d toured through several areas of Ancient Rome that housed leftover magical remnants and modern wizarding communities established nearby.

Harry is quiet through most of the stories, observing how Greg and Vince prefer to give answers in less than ten-worded sentences, Theo and Millicent are quite shy but obviously very keen, Tracey and Terrence are both extremely smart even though they don’t flaunt it. Blaise, Daphne, and Pansy are the most charismatic of the bunch besides Draco; the four of them hogging the main thread of conversation. The others don’t seem to mind; they speak amongst themselves, watch the chatterboxes with bemusement, or pull Harry into a separate discussion.

Harry is feeling rather proud of himself for holding it together so well around this many people his age. He goes to sip his tea when Pansy abruptly addresses him.

“So, Harry, do you remember the night your parents were murdered?”

Noise around the table suddenly cuts off at the same moment Harry chokes on his beverage, uncomfortably hot droplets spilling down his chin, dropping on to his robes and the tablecloth. He swallows harshly and coughs, barely hearing Daphne smacking Pansy on the arm while Draco gives her a dressing-down.

“What in Merlin’s name possessed you to ask that, Parkinson?” Terrence asks, looking at her aghast, just as they all are.

Pansy, however, is watching Harry closely. “What? I’m just curious. Not like I’m the only one who was thinking it.”

“But none of us are rude enough to _ask_ it,” Tracey admonishes.

At this point, Harry has caught his breath. Knowing a napkin is useless for spilled tea stains, he flicks his finger, willing the mess to vanish from the table and his clothing. It immediately does, and Harry sets his cup back in the saucer, dabbing his damp face with a dry part of his napkin. Taking note of the silence around him, he looks up to find all of them watching him, wide-eyed all over again. Confused, he plays back the last few seconds, internally cursing himself for being so foolish as to show them he could do wordless, wandless magic.

Trying to appear nonchalant, he straightens and addresses Pansy. “I don’t remember much. Just my mother saying some things, someone laughing, and then a green light. It’s blurry after that.”

His blunt answer gets their minds churning once more. Surprisingly, it’s Millicent who speaks first. “Someone was laughing?”

They all look back at Harry after hearing her quiet question. He shrugs one shoulder. “A man, I think.”

This time, it’s Theo who speaks up. “But the reports say your father died first. Downstairs. So, the man who was laughing…”

“The Dark Lord laughed after killing your parents?” Greg questions, only for Vince to finish his thought. “Why would he do that?”

Harry resists grabbing his chest where a clenching pain is starting to grow. “I don’t know. I might be remembering wrong anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

A few of them appear to disagree, but none of them say anything else until Blaise breaks the tension.

“You guys want to play a game of Exploding Snap?”

***

Exploding Snap turns out to be an absolute blast. Harry waited a few rounds to learn the rules; Draco and the others providing instructive narration during the current games. When it’s his turn to play, he makes sure to use his wand to tap the cards, not wanting anymore attention for doing wandless magic. He ends up being rather good at it, the others joking about beginner’s luck. The ribbing doesn’t bother Harry though In fact, he finds he quite likes it. Here and now with these kids, their good-natured teasing makes him feel included.

Gobstones, too, quickly becomes Harry’s other new favorite game. Not that he’s played many muggle boardgames to begin with. If any. Still, there’s no way they were better than Exploding Snap and Gobstones.

Shrieks of laughter ring across the Zabini estate. They rotate sides after each game and Harry finds himself completely forgetting his earlier pain and reservations about being around so many new people, because this is _loads_ better than when he was around muggle kids. He secretly relishes what the Dursleys might think if they saw Harry having so much fun.

When they tire of the games, they debate whether they should go swimming or flying before lunchtime. Harry votes for flying, having no desire to have his body on display (and because he never learned to swim, but they don’t need to know that either). Lucky for him, flying wins out. Blaise only has a few brooms, so half of them start a mini game of keep-away in the air using a quaffle. Draco and Harry had yet to play with the sport’s balls during the times they’d flown at Malfoy Manor. Therefore, despite Draco’s nagging to fly right away, Harry is happy to sit with Tracey, Daphne, Blaise, and Terrence while Draco, Vince, Greg, Theo, Millicent, and Pansy fly first.

Harry and the others on the ground use the time to chat more about meaningless things, listening and watching the players above throw the quaffle back and forth.

“Draco seems to think you’re a fair flier, Harry,” Blaise brings up after a while. He leans back on his elbows, legs stretched out before him, and closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight. “You fly often?”

Harry picks at the grass in front of his crossed legs. “Not really. Just a few times.”

“Where did you two meet?” Terrence asks from where he lays supine next to Blaise.

Harry assumes he means Draco. “At the Menagerie in Diagon.”

“Oh? Has Draco finally gotten himself an owl, then? Or did he choose some other ridiculous animal?”

Harry hides his frown, thinking that Artemis definitely isn’t a ridiculous animal. Draco obviously hasn’t told them about her, yet, so Harry won’t either. “He got an owl, yeah.”

“Do you have one, Harry?” Daphne asks, sitting still while Tracey braids her hair.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Didn’t want one.”

Tracey gives him a funny look around Daphne’s head. “Don’t you want to be able to write to your family?”

Keeping his disgust and laughter in his chest, Harry shrugs. “I’ll use a school owl.” He’d read about the owlery in _Hogwarts: A History_. He could always use Hedwig too, if the Malfoys still want to talk to him once he’s at Hogwarts.

His stomach clenches at that thought. Would Lord and Lady Malfoy even want to talk to Harry once the summer’s over? He doesn’t think they would. He’ll be safe and around other people, far away from his muggle relatives. They’ll have no need to check on him or talk about anything.

Yes, he decides. In addition to Forest hating them, it’s for the best that Harry didn’t get an owl.

“I heard the school owls are slow things that are almost always molting,” Terrence sneers. “I’d much rather have my own.” He looks up at the players and chuckles. “Milli looks downright terrified up there, doesn’t she?”

Everyone else except Blaise looks up, and Harry cringes at how pale Millicent has turned. Her movements are rigid, and she looks like she’d rather flee from the quaffle than go anywhere near it.

“Theo’s not looking too confident either,” Tracey notes. “Maybe we should offer to switch out?”

“You guys go ahead,” Blaise says, sounding sleepy. “I’m fine staying down here.”

“Me too,” Daphne agrees.

“Suit yourself,” Terrence says, standing up and calling out to the fliers. “Oi! You lot want to switch now?”

Draco looks annoyed to be interrupted so soon; but when Millicent, Theo, and Pansy rush back down to the ground, he becomes pleased. “Harry!” he yells. “You better get your arse up here!”

“So demanding,” Harry snorts, making Theo grin as he passes Harry his broom.

“Better you than me,” the boy teases, joining Blaise in stretching out on the grass.

Trying to suppress how ecstatic he is to be flying, Harry waits for Terrence and Tracey to mount their brooms. As soon as he’s situated, Terrence takes off, speeding towards Vince and Greg, making them swerve out of the way with annoyed grunts.

Harry smiles encouragingly when Tracey is a bit hesitant to follow suit. She clenches her jaw and leans forward. Her broom wobbles only a smidge as she joins the boys in the air.

“Go on then, Harry,” Daphne says, throwing a picked wildflower at Harry. “Put Draco’s money where his mouth is.”

All too willing to comply, Harry shoots into the air, grinning ear to ear when Draco emits a small shriek as Harry rolls out of a collision course with the blonde at the last possible moment. Letting out a breathless laugh, Harry makes a wide arc around the fliers, noting that while the broom is fast, it’s not as speedy as Draco’s models. He’s not going to be picky though, not when flying on any broom is brilliant.

He slows, pulling up to hover next to Draco. When the wind dies down and clears from his ears, they’re immediately assaulted by shouting. Harry panics. _Is something wrong_? _Did he do something wrong?_

Then their words become clear.

“What the bloody hell was that?!”

“How did you even—?”

“Draco, you’re a right prat, hiding this from us!”

“—we’d be unbeatable!”

“He’s way too agile to be a Chaser—”

“Where did you learn _that_?!”

“Harry, you better be in Slytherin, or so help us—!”

Harry is a bit stunned by the intensity with which the others are haranguing him; he honestly didn’t think he did anything impressive. He just avoided Draco, that’s all. They haven’t even seen him dive or flip yet! Wait, should he not show them? What if they think he’s just showing off and they get mad? What if—

“I told you all!” Draco hollers loud enough for everyone to hear, jostling Harry when he flies closer to throw an arm around the worried boy. “He’s a natural! Imagine him as our Seeker, me and Terrence as Chasers, Vince and Greg as Beaters, and whatever older students for Keeper and the last Chaser! We’re going to smash the other Houses!”

“You think they’ll let all you First Years play?” Tracey questions, unbothered by being left out of Draco’s star lineup.

Draco lifts his chin, smirking. “After we tryout, I’m sure my godfather and father will convince Dumbledore and the Board to let us. We can’t own our own brooms, but who’s to say the school brooms will be the shoddy old ones they currently have?”

Like the others, Harry quickly picks up on his hidden meaning: Lord Malfoy would probably buy really nice brooms for the school’s Slytherin team, leaving the other Houses to use the old Hogwarts brooms or their own. While he’s not sure that’s entirely fair, Harry says nothing.

It also sounds to him like Draco might be buying his way on to the team. Blaise seems to agree. “Bribery, Draco? And here I thought you were a good flier all on your own.”

Draco’s cheeks tinge pink and his arm around Harry tenses. “It’s not _bribery_ , Blaise. I’ll make the team anyway. Getting new brooms will be a bonus after the fact.”

“So even if you don’t make the team, Slytherin is still going to get new brooms?”

Draco hesitates for only a moment. “That’s not up to me. Father will do as he pleases.”

Blaise, Theo, and Daphne chuckle. “Whatever you say, Draco.”

Deciding to let the conversation drop, Draco changes the subject. “Oi, Pans, release the Snitch, will you? We can play Snatch the Snitch.”

“You going to be able to find it?” She asks, opening the chest they’d retrieved the quaffle from. Harry eyes with alarm how two of the balls violently struggle against their bonds.

“You wound us, Pansy!” Draco cries dramatically, releasing Harry and flying into space away from the rest of them. The other four do the same, leaving Harry with his own sphere of space. “Just for that, you have to give me something when I win!”

“Deal! First one to catch it gets Harry Potter’s signature!” Pansy cries out before throwing the golden ball into the air.

“Wait, what?” Harry stammers, only to whir around when the other fliers shoot past him, chasing the ball that has now grown wings and is flitting away through the sky.

Ignoring the laughing down below, he takes off, deciding to climb higher than the others to get a better view. Although they’re playing in a wide-open field with no obstacles, they somehow lose sight of the snitch in the early stages of the chase. Probably because they were intent on bumping into each other. Instead, they begin circling around the area like Harry’s doing, only much lower.

Enjoying being so high up, the breeze lifting the fringe off his sweaty forehead, Harry scans the world below him. A few times he thinks he spots something gold, only to fly closer and realize it’s just the sun glinting off his glasses or something on one of the other kids.

They fly for a few more minutes, during which Harry can tell Draco and Terrence are getting frustrated. Tracey seems to be reveling in the activity, like Harry, whereas Vince and Greg have started to see if they can shove one another off their brooms without anyone noticing.

Harry watches them, smile creeping forth at the sight of them getting into a slapping fight. He tenses when another glimmer of gold catches his attention. It’s right behind the hooligans, so Harry thinks it’s just another trick of the light. When it starts to move in an odd pattern, Harry gets closer.

It’s not until he’s ten meters up that he’s positive it really is the snitch. Staying silent despite the victory burning in his chest, Harry takes a quick look to see where the other fliers are. They’re too far away.

He takes off like a bullet towards the snitch.

One of the girls shrieks. Harry pays no attention to it. The wind is stealing his breath and tugging at his hair as he dives, faster and _faster_ as the snitch apparently realizes he’s closing in and shoots off towards the ground.

Harry blasts past Vince and Greg, wanting to laugh at their dismayed shouts. He takes no note of what they do, or if they’re chasing after him, if anybody is, because the snitch is _right_ in front of him.

There’s five meters between him and the ground, and he lifts one hand off the broom, straining forward—

Three meters, his fingers brush the fluttering gold wings—

Two meters—!

He pulls up, knees teasing the grass, toes not far above them. The tail of his broom trails the ground and he loses his balance just enough that fear shoots through him like lightning.

But he doesn’t crash.

He recovers and levels out, coasting parallel to the ground, senses coming back online as he gradually turns back towards the others, noticing that they’re all on the ground, standing and staring at him.

When he’s close, he slows and gets off the broom, legs struggling to bare his weight. Only now does he feel how much they’re shaking.

In the next moment, he’s tackled, and would have fallen if his assailant— _assailants_ he registers—didn’t have him in such a tight grip.

“You _bastard_!” One of them yells in his ear. Harry belatedly realizes it’s Draco.

“Of all stupid moves to pull!” one of the girls, Pansy he thinks, cries into his other ear.

Harry blinks, looking up in surprise at all the others. Are they mad? They don’t look mad, mostly terrified. All their eyes are practically popping out their heads and Daphne is clinging to Blaise with a white-knuckled grip.

“What?” Harry asks them all, still not sure what’s wrong.

“What do you mean _‘what’_?!” Draco asks, swiftly pulling back to stare at Harry, aghast. “You nearly died, you fool!”

Harry blinks again. “So?”

Now it’s Pansy’s turn to lurch back and stare at him, helpfully blocking out the view of all the others’ jaws dropping.

“ _SO?!”_ she shrieks, looking seconds away from throttling him. “ _So you could have DIED!_ What in Merlin’s name possessed you to do something so reckless?”

Harry, bewildered by her worrying, tilts his head. “I wanted the snitch.”

He holds up his closed fist, the docile golden ball giving a half-hearted flutter to its stunned audience.

There’s only silence in the air now, and somehow that bothers Harry even more than their smothering.

“What?” he stammers, wanting anybody to say or do anything besides stare at his hand like he’s holding a million galleons. “Was I not supposed to get it?”

They’re still for another few moments before a chuckle suddenly breaks out and all eyes turn to Theo who’s smothering his laughter behind his hands. When he notices all the attention is on him, including a dumbfounded Harry’s, he positively _bursts_ , sounding near demonic.

The others look as confused by Theo’s behavior as Harry is, and he’s not sure if that’s a reassuring sign or not.

“Ha- _Harry_ ,” Theo manages to sputter, breaking into more hysterics before choking. “ _Harry!_ You-You-Oh Merlin… Hog-Hogwarts is-is going to be… _so much fun_ with you around!”

Harry’s not sure what to do, but Blaise starts to chuckle and it’s a rich sound that makes Daphne then Tracey then Terrence start, and soon the rest of them are laughing.

Harry smiles meekly, thinking that he didn’t do anything too wrong if they all look so happy and are grinning at him. He allows Draco to throw an arm around his shoulders and pull him close, the blonde beaming like he’s been given the best gift ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man oh man.
> 
> That was a lot.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts before you head on to the next chapter!


	8. End of Summer Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As September approaches, Harry's summer becomes complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

When one of the Zabini house-elves informs them it’s time to go home, they do so in high spirits, already planning when and at whose manor they’re going to reconvene at in the weeks to come. To his immense surprise, the girls all give Harry affectionate touches before they floo away, and the boys give him a gruff pat on the back or firm nod as they leave. Draco and Harry are the last to remain, both giving Blaise a handshake, one that Harry senses Lady Zabini watching a bit too carefully from her spot next to the chairs across the room. He’s quick to escape from her prickling attention.

He manages not to fall on his face when he steps out of the floo network, moving to give Draco space when he follows a few seconds later. Lady Malfoy is waiting for them in the main hall. She greets them, clearing away any residuals soot.

“Did you have a pleasant visit?” she asks, leading the way to the dining room.

Harry nods happily while Draco responds. “We did. We had a lot to speak about. We taught Harry Exploding Snap and Gobstones and played quidditch as well.”

Lady Malfoy smiles over at Harry and he’s glad she doesn’t speak as if coddling him. “How did the games compare to others you’ve played, Harry?”

“They’re way better,” he says, because that’s the only answer he can give. “Magic is brilliant.”

Lord Malfoy is waiting for them in the dining hall and their dinner is calm. Draco tells his parents his friends’ reactions to meeting Harry and general information about what they had been up to on their holidays. Harry notices how Draco leaves out several significant details the others had mentioned, and it makes a part of Harry smile, realizing that he’s keeping their secrets instead of getting them in trouble when he very easily could have.

Harry had felt confident about the thought before, but now he’s more confident and relieved than ever: Draco is a good friend.

At least for a human, that is.

***

Harry’s animal friends are ecstatic to see him when he returns to his room.

Daisy chirps and bounds over, winding in between his feet until he picks her up, holding her close as she rubs her cheeks over as much of his face as she can reach. Grinning, Harry looks past her when he spots Forest slithering forward at a much more leisurely pace.

 **Sorry, Forest** , Harry says. **I didn’t mean to take so long after dinner. I owe you one for staying with Daisy.**

**You do.**

**Were you guys okay while I was gone? Did you eat?**

**Yes. That odd creature came in to give _fluffyfurball_ her food.**

Harry assumes he means Dobby and makes a mental note to thank the elf. **What about you?**

**I will have one of my snacks now.**

**Oh, right, let me…** Harry rushes to retrieve one of the snacks he had gotten for Forest at the Menagerie the other day.

With both animals fed and his bedtime routine completed, Harry settles into bed with a book. Forest and Daisy join him, curling up on his torso under the duvet with their heads sticking out just under his chin.

Harry sets about finishing _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ His mind, however, does not want to focus.

 **Something bothers you, hatchling** , Forest speaks up, flickering his tongue out, tickling Harry’s neck.

 **It’s nothing…** Harry says, re-reading the same sentence on the page for Basilisks. Something about roosters or spiders. He’s read the sentence several times already and still has no idea what it’s saying.

 **It is obviously something** , Forest says, raising his head to look Harry in the eye. **Tell me.**

 **I met several kids today that will be at Hogwarts** , Harry says, considering his words. **They were all nice, but I forgot to ask them not to tell anyone I was there, and I’m worried they’re going to tell the newspapers and then everyone will know I’m staying with the Malfoys, and Dumbledore will find out, and he’ll send me back, and make sure that I can never escape them again—**

**Perhapsss speaking with the blonde boy will make you feel better. He may be able to tell these children not to say anything.**

**It’s already been hours…** Harry counters, nevertheless setting his book aside, holding Daisy to his chest as he gets out of bed and goes to the hall, Forest dangling from his shoulders.

He approaches Draco’s door, hesitating before finally knocking.

Draco answers after a moment, dressed in pajamas and blearily blinking at the odd sight Harry and his companions make. He looks tired, and Harry immediately feels awfully guilty, thinking his friend may have been asleep.

“You alright, Harry?”

Harry nods. “Yes, I’m sorry for waking you, Draco, I just, sorry, no, I’ll go—”

A hand reaches out and holds him in place. Draco is looking more awake by the second, his forehead slightly creased. “It’s fine, Harry, tell me what you needed to tell me.”

Harry swallows away his chagrin and gets on with it. “I wanted to thank you. For letting me come with you to Blaise’s.”

Draco tilts his brow. “You don’t need to thank me, Harry, Lady Zabini invited you.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry takes a breath. “I mean, they’re your friends. You didn’t have to share them with me or make me feel included. Even if you only did it to see their reaction.”

Draco shares his sly grin at those last words. “Their faces were hilarious, yes, but that’s not why I ‘shared’ you, as you put it. You are my friend, and I wanted you to meet my other friends so that you could be friends with them too. Nothing more.”

“Oh,” Harry says, rubbing his thumb over a sleeping Daisy in a self-soothing gesture. “Okay.”

Draco eyes him up. “Did you not enjoy their company?”

“No! No, I did, I had loads of fun,” Harry is quick to reassure. “It’s just… it’s dumb…”

“Say it.”

“Ah, I um, I’m worried the others will tell their parents they met me. That I’m living with you. Their parents are going to tell everyone else, and Dumbledore will find out I’m not at the Dursleys, which will be really bad and ruin everything—"

Draco interrupts his rambling with a quick, barking laugh. He grins at Harry. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Dear, sweet, innocent Harry. Do you _realize_ what a golden experience they’ve been given?”

At Harry’s dumb look, Draco goes on.

“Meeting you is one of the greatest things that can happen to any of us right now. No, no! Listen! I’m serious. The reality, Harry, is that you’re a _hero_. That’s how our world sees you. Yes, the others are going to tell their parents who will undoubtedly be there next time we all meet up because they wish to meet you; but I promise you, _they_ will _not_ tell anyone else. Why? Because you are far too juicy a secret to share with anyone else.”

“You don’t have to make it sound so weird,” Harry grumbles.

“It’s the truth. You are someone worth knowing, and that’s before they even get to know how brilliant you are as _you: Harry_. Not as the Boy Wonder, but _you_.”

Harry feels light-headed. He’s always wanted someone to see him as ‘Harry’. Not Freak or Boy, Mister or Heir Potter, and especially not savior of the wizarding world. No.

Harry.

Just Harry.

“And after that stunt you pulled today,” Draco chuckles. “Well, Theo wasn’t wrong. It’s going to be fantastic when everyone at Hogwarts realizes how brilliant you are. Especially when we get to watch it all happen from our front row seats by your side. ‘Cause that’s what friends do.”

The worry Harry had been holding on to sludges off him with a heavy exhale.

If Draco’s wrong about how the others aware of his location react, then… he’ll figure something out.

But Harry doesn’t think he’s wrong.

It feels good, being able to trust someone. Even if it is fragile.

They say goodnight and Harry goes back to his room, curling up under the sheets once more, finally able to understand how spiders flee from basilisks, yet a rooster’s crow can kill the mighty serpent.

Harry’s gaze roams over the beautiful, detailed drawing on the page, imagining how brilliant it would be to meet one in person.

***

The rest of the week passes quickly. One afternoon, Harry and Draco are playing quidditch when Lady Malfoy sends Cadby the elf to inform them that Professor Snape had dropped by with Harry’s eyesight potion.

His flicker of disappointment at not seeing his godfather is overruled by his eagerness. The boys zip back to the shed then house, Harry close to sprinting with anticipation. Lady Malfoy smiles when she sees his excitement. She passes over the potion vial with a warning that his eyes will burn and tear up for several minutes. He is to keep them closed until the inevitable scratching sensation dissipates.

He takes a deep breath before swallowing it in one go, clenching his eyes closed both at her instructions and at the disgusting taste. While can sense Draco and his mother’s presence nearby, most of his focus narrows to the stinging, gritty scratching happening on his eyes. He does indeed tear up, the drops feeling thicker than usual as they pour down his face. He goes to wipe at his eyes, only to have hands grab his wrists. Lady Malfoy tells him that he can’t wipe anything away for fear of disrupting the potion’s effects.

So Harry waits and waits until finally it doesn’t feel like bugs are crawling under his eyelids. Lady Malfoy releases his arms, putting what must be a handkerchief in one of them, allowing him to wipe away his tears. He squints a little only to immediately shut his eyes again as the light in the room sears into his head.

Brain now pounding, he tries again, blinking until he’s able to keep his eyes open long enough to get a good look around. He feels a bit silly when he panics as everything looks even _worse_ than his usual vision, or at least it does until he registers that his glasses are still on his face. He removes them, blinking again to let his pupils focus and…

_Oh._

How had he even gotten around before?!

There are tiny dots that float in the sunbeams coming in through the window, and there’s the quidditch pitch all the way across the field, and that painting on the wall is actually a dog, not a horse—

“How is it?”

Harry turns to beam at Lady Malfoy, for the first time noticing the occasional beauty marks dotting her complexion. “It’s wicked!” he breathes. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

She smiles, vanishing the vial and sullied handkerchief with a wave of her wand. Harry turns to Draco who is smirking at Harry’s elation.

“You look much better without those hideous glasses,” his friend says.

Harry would pout if he wasn’t so giddy. “It’s not my fault they were hideous, my aunt pulled them out of the church donation bin when I was five.”

The comment makes Draco and Lady Malfoy pause for a moment, so Harry quickly changes the subject before they can think about it more. “Does Professor Snape know the potion is for me?”

“No.” Lady Malfoy assures. “He is curious, I’m sure. We did not inform him of whom it was intended for, and he did not ask.”

Harry is beyond relieved to hear that. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his godfather, he just doesn’t know him. And Dumbledore is his boss. It’s not completely crazy to think he would inform the man of Harry’s whereabouts.

It’s close enough to lunch that Harry and Draco stay inside rather than go back to playing quidditch, despite Draco wanting to play Snatch the Snitch with Harry’s improved sight. After their meal, Lady Malfoy drags Draco away for a lesson, leaving Harry to read in his room.

While reading _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , Harry at first feels…off. He continues going over the pages, marveling at the tiny creases in the parchment, when it hits him.

His head doesn’t hurt.

It had become such a normal feeling when reading, that Harry had long ago subconsciously ignored the headaches. Now, however, the pain is gone, and what’s more; he’s holding the book at arm’s length, no longer needing his nose to be practically buried in the pages before he could make out the individual letters.

And it’s all thanks to the Malfoys.

And his godfather.

He doesn’t deserve them.

***

As Draco had hypothesized, Lords Greengrass, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, along with Ladies Zabini and Higgs, are there to greet Harry when he and Draco floo to Davis Manor a couple days later.

“Heir Potter,” the broad, stone-faced man standing next to Theo greets once Harry rights himself. “A pleasure to meet you. I am Lord Nott.”

Remembering his readings and Draco’s teachings, Harry gives the man a firm handshake and bows his head a little. “Lord Nott, the honor is mine.”

The man smirks and steps back next to his fidgeting son, letting the other adults step forward to introduce themselves to Harry. When Lady Zabini steps up, Harry tries not to cringe when her fragrant perfume assaults his nose as he kisses her hand. “Lady Zabini.”

“Heir Potter. Am I correct in interpreting your lack of glasses to mean you took the eyesight potion?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry confirms, stepping as far enough away as is polite.

She hums, eyes leisurely observing his face. “You are still certain you have no betrothals confirmed”

Harry fights back the blush threatening to take over. “None that I know of.”

“Really?” Lord Davis asks from his spot next to his wife and Tracey. “That is a surprise to hear, Heir Potter. Surely, someone of your pedigree and notoriety would have offers arriving every day.”

“I don’t want one.”

Most of the Lords and Ladies immediately smile in a way Harry recognizes as the face adults make when they think a kid is being young and naïve.

Lord Greengrass proves him right. “It is only customary, Heir Potter. Why, if my Daphne and Astoria weren’t already in arranged contracts, I may have extended an offer.”

Harry wants to apparate on the spot and never come back. He controls his breathing and responds how he knows he should. He doesn’t want to make any enemies. “I would have been honored to receive one, Lord Greengrass, sir. But I will be waiting a few years before agreeing to any contracts.”

“You think that’s smart, boy?” Lord Goyle asks from across the room. Harry tries not to grit his teeth.

“Maybe not, sir, but it’s what I’m doing until I am better prepared to agree to anything restrictive or permanent.”

The adults share glances at this, humor brightening some of their eyes.

“Oh, I like you, Heir Potter,” Lady Higgs chuckles. She pats Terrence on the back. “I approve of your association, Terrence. If that is all, my friends, I will be taking my leave now. The children are here to spend time with each other, not us.”

Though a few of them look disgruntled, all the adults do floo away or exit the manor’s main door to apparate away outside the wards. That’s what Draco says they’re doing when Lady Zabini and Lords Parkinson and Crabbe go that way.

Lord and Lady Davis leave them to it, ordering Tracey to summon a house-elf or one of them if they need anything. With the adults gone, conversation immediately starts up between the eleven kids, Harry excitedly regaling Daphne and Pansy about his improved vision.

All of the quidditch fans among them want to see how much better of a flier Harry’s become without his glasses. As much as he’d like to, Harry declines, telling them he didn’t feel up to it today. The real reason, however, was that he didn’t want to risk Lord or Lady Davis seeing him doing a crazy stunt and telling the Malfoys, likely getting Harry in trouble. He got lucky last time with Lady Zabini not seeing, but if a bunch of kids reacted that way to his dive, how would their straight-laced parents respond?

The last thing he wants, only a fortnight before Hogwarts starts, is to get in trouble.

He should have known better.

***

When Draco and Harry go home after a day playing games and practicing magic with their friends (Harry had been extra careful to not do anymore wandless casting or push to much magic through his wand), they exit the floo to find a very tense Lord and Lady Malfoy waiting for them.

It isn’t until Harry spots Dobby cowering between them that Harry realizes something is most assuredly, horribly wrong.

“Dobby is sorry, Young Master Harry!” the elf wails, cutting off anything the Malfoys were about to say. “Dobby didn’t be cleaning, just like His Greatness asked, but Cadby saw, sir—”

“Enough,” Lady Malfoy orders, startling and terrifying Harry with how stern her voice sounds. She turns to Harry and he takes a step back towards the fire. “Harry, we have just been informed that there is something causing a disturbance within your wardrobe. Should we be concerned?”

Harry for a split second thinks they are already looking way past concerned, but that thought quickly whizzes away when it hits him what must be happening.

He takes off running, not caring how rude or guilty it is. He’s not stopped, the Malfoys may be too surprised to do anything other than call after him. He races up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and blurs down the hallway, bursting into his room.

He first hears the dull thudding coming from the wardrobe, then spots Forest swaying back and forth in front of it. He’s not sure where Daisy is, but as long as she’s not in danger, he can’t focus on her at the moment.

 **Hatchling!** Forest hisses excitedly. **Let my _cousinofserpent_ out!**

 **Forest!** Harry pants, sliding onto his knees next to the snake. **You said it wouldn’t be hatching until we were at Hogwarts!**

 **I said it would hatch in _about_ a moon! **Forest replies, movements impatient. **Now, hurry! The hatchling should have its mother while it’s hatching!**

 **I’m not it’s bloody mother!** Harry cries as he feels the wardrobe door handle first, making sure it’s not hot before he opens it up.

The shield is still surrounding the egg and box, but it does nothing to hide the cracks webbing their way along the egg’s surface, or how the fire distorts when the egg wobbles.

 **Why is it hatching so soon?!** Harry exclaims. He doesn’t want to touch anything in case it causes damage, so he sits back and floats the shielded egg out of the wardrobe, not noticing that he’s doing it wandlessly.

Or that they now have company.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Harry whips around so fast his neck cracks and nausea rolls through him. All three Malfoys crowd his doorframe, completely dumbfounded about the sight before them. “Lord Malfoy, sir—”

“Heir Potter. Is that, or is that not, a dragon egg?” The man asks, stepping further into the room.

“It is, sir, but—”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to keep it in your wardrobe? With an active flame surrounding it?”

“No, well, yes, I had to—”

“You are aware that having a dragon egg in your possession is highly illegal?”

“I—”

“Are you trying to have myself and my family arrested, Heir Potter?”

“No!” Harry nearly shouts, panic, fear, and shame threatening to explode from his chest. “No! That’s not…I didn’t…Not mine!”

“Explain,” Lord Malfoy orders, planting his cane in front of him and resting his palms on top of the handle—his wand—and stares at Harry expectantly. Lady Malfoy and Draco do the same, though they’re both looking a bit more shocked than Lord Malfoy is at the moment.

“Hagrid, sir! The day he took me to Diagon, I found him in the Leaky Cauldron playing a card game and I guess he won because the man gave him the egg, but Forest knew what it was and Hagrid was acting clumsy, so Forest took the egg, and he calls it his hatchling, so I’ve been keeping it warm because mother dragons breathe fire on their eggs, but I put the shield around it so nothing gets burned, and it wasn’t supposed to hatch yet, and we just wanted to keep it safe!”

He’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed after rushing to get everything out before he lost his courage all together.

Lord Malfoy stares. “You are saying Rubeus Hagrid gambled for a dragon egg in the middle of a busy pub, and your familiar decided to relieve the man of it, having you keep the egg incubated for the past month. In your wardrobe. Where it is now hatching.”

“Y-yes. Sir.”

“I see. Narcissa, I need to make a fire call.”

She nods briskly, one hand gripping her robe clasp in a nervous gesture. “I believe that would be best.”

Harry scrambles to his knees. “Wait, what, who are you calling?”

“Someone who won’t have us all arrested, Heir Potter.”

Harry gulps around the dragon egg-sized lump in his throat after the man has left the room, blinking helplessly.

“It is for the best, Harry,” Lady Malfoy says. “You certainly could not have raised a dragon in a castle even if you could keep it a secret.”

“That’s what I told Forest,” Harry says, staring at the egg when it gives another shake and the cracks spread. “I didn’t mean for you to possibly get in trouble, honest! We thought there was another week or two before it hatched. I’m sorry.”

“Your apology is noted, Harry,” she says.

 _But not accepted_ , is what Harry hears. His gut twists unpleasantly.

This is it. They’re going to throw him out. He ruined everything, like he always does.

He’s not good, he’s bad, bad, bad…

 _Freak_.

“Harry.”

He’s not Harry, he’s Freak, Boy, worthless, unwanted—

“ _Harry_.”

His head moves towards the voice, but his mind barely registers what his ears are hearing.

“Are you listening to me, young man?”

Harry nods numbly. Lady Malfoy’s voice sounds like she’s shouting from another room.

“I want to make sure you understand what must be done, Harry,” she continues, sounding closer now. “Dragons were poached into near existence within the last few centuries and it’s only thanks to recent conservation efforts that there is still a population. Even without their decreased numbers, the mortality rate of dragon offspring is exceedingly low, which makes it quite miraculous that this egg is still alive after being passed through several people and kept in your wardrobe.”

Her explanation steadily draws Harry out of his mind.

“I can tell you both are quite attached to the egg,” she says, looking between him and Forest. “However, you must know that a dragon belongs with others of its kind.”

Harry wants to argue that Forest is close enough to being the dragon’s ‘kind’, they are cousins after all; and Harry might have been able to speak to the dragon hatchling. Before he can buck up the courage to raise these points, Lord Malfoy returns with the most intimidating woman Harry’s ever seen.

Upon seeing her, Harry thinks he’d rather it have been Uncle Vernon walking in. Her long, black hair falls in a braid over one shoulder, framing a high-cheekboned face with eyes the color of the sun. All of her rugged, black and red clothing look to be the same texture as Harry’s dragonhide boots; and he comes to the conclusion that, if Lord Malfoy went to her for help, she must work with dragons.

“Heir Potter, this is May Fong, she is the Head Handler at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. She is—”

“Not here to waste any time,” Fong interrupts, her words sounding funny. It takes Harry a moment to understand what she’s saying when she speaks again. “What fool thought they could raise a fire-breathing dragon?”

It takes all Harry has not to bare his teeth at the woman. Forest has no problem doing so and releases a low, menacing hiss.

Fong ignores the sound, already easily singling Harry out from the Malfoys. “You are small. You think you can handle big dragon?”

 **Of course we can!** Forest answers for him, extending upwards to spit his indignation at her, swaying possessively in front of Harry and the egg the whole time. **It is our hatchling and we will raise it right!**

“A fighter, I see,” she retorts, raising a brow at Forest’s display. Harry thinks she doesn’t look as annoyed as before. Her next words, however, negate any hope he had that she would change her mind. “It is no matter, little snake. You cannot keep the egg; it does not belong with you.”

Harry doesn’t like another adult saying that, even if he knows deep down that they’re correct. Forest looks about ready to bite the woman, so Harry steps in, speaking in English in case Lord Malfoy hadn’t told her Harry is a parselmouth. “Forest…”

Forest snaps around to face him, movements becoming even more agitated when he sees Harry’s forlorn face. **No, Harry hatchling! No, you cannot let them take _cousinofserpent_! It is OUR hatchling; it is OUR family! It stays with us!**

Knowing Forest is not going to give up, Harry tries to come up with an alternative or _anything_ that will allow him to keep the dragon hatchling.

He’s not given enough time.

With a crack louder than any others, a new seam in the shell connects several strands of the established webbing, causing bits to jut out. One piece near the top swells then collapses, a filmy layer underneath stretching along with the shell, and Harry thinks he sees a mass of scales underneath the undulating section.

“We are not having discussion. I am taking dragon, and that is that.” In a flicking motion, Fong’s wand is pointing at the shielded egg that promptly floats out of Harry’s reach with a quick murmur from her.

His gut reaction is to snatch it back, and he raises his hands to do just that, by force or by magic. When Forest flies forward though, he quickly redirects his efforts. Harry falls forward and manages to grab the serpent before he can attack Fong. Harry pulls them both back, just in time to miss a burst of red light that hits the floor where Forest had been.

Voices start to overlap, Harry’s included as he berates the woman who holds the egg securely under one arm, the other holding her wand steadily at Harry’s face.

In his hands, Forest strains furiously to get out of Harry’s grip, going so far as to painfully whack the boy with his tail. He doesn’t bite him though, and Harry is relieved that his friend isn’t that far gone in his anger.

**Let go of me, Harry hatchling, let go this instant, don’t let our hatchling be taken, let go—!**

“Forest! Forest, please! We can’t, we have to let the hatchling go, she can help it hatch and be healthy—”

**No! She may smell like _cousinsofserpents_ , but she does not know how to take care of our hatchling!**

“Well neither do we!”

Harry is incredibly frazzled, hating how the Malfoys are standing back and watching while Fong is already leaving, apparently not caring that Harry is quite obviously having a two-way conversation with a snake. Ignoring this, Harry tries to stop her. He can’t let her go, not like this.

“Wait!” he yells after her, louder than he’s ever spoken before. The Malfoys freeze. Fong halts and turns back halfway, keeping the egg on the side of her body away from Harry. “Please, can we, my snake, we, I mean—”

“Spit it out, boy!”

With that name, Harry becomes furious and regains his footing. “Forest is the one who saved the hatchling from likely being crushed by a giant, and I have kept it warm for weeks, making sure that it was safe. You can’t just steal it from us!”

“It is the law, Heir Potter,” Lord Malfoy states, though his tone is not as furious as when all of this began. “No one but licensed handlers on government-established land can be in possession of a dragon.”

Harry knows this and grits his teeth at the helplessness he feels. Forest lets out a murderous yet despairing hiss, starting to wilt in Harry’s hands. He has to do something!

“I want to visit the hatchling,” Harry says, voice unaffected by the emotional storm whirling inside him. “When it’s a bit older, Forest and I get to visit. Please.”

The older Malfoys trade a look before turning to the dragon handler. Her pink lips thin, and Harry thinks she’s going to refuse and Forest is going to be devastated and he’s going to lose what should have been another friend—

“Fine,” she says, to the surprise of everyone in the room. “If Lucius and Narcissa allow it, I shall inform them when the newborn is settled, and it is safe for you to come. It is a rare opportunity for anyone other than a dragon handler to enter the reserves, boy. That is my only offer. Take it or leave it.”

Not believing his luck, Harry gives Lord and Lady Malfoy his best pleading eyes, beaming when Lord Malfoy agrees. “We shall arrange details at a later date,” he says.

Fong gives Lord Malfoy a sharp nod then looks around once more at them all, lingering on Harry and Forest the longest, then gives an abrupt, “Good,” and leaves.

Forest hisses even louder, making a sound Harry has never heard before. It reminds him of a dog’s wounded howl.

**Forest…**

Harry tries to offer comfort, only for Forest to lunge at his hand. Harry jolts away and Forest snaps his jaw closed before he can bite flesh, but the damage is done.

 **I am very upset with you, Harry hatchling,** the snake says, taking advantage of Harry’s shock to escape. He glides towards the room’s door, Draco scrambling out of his way as he goes. **Do not try to speak to me.**

He’s leaving? **Forest!** No, no, he can’t leave! He’s Harry’s first friend, he’s always been there for Harry; he can’t just leave like this! **Forest! It’s not my fault!**

Harry leaps to his feet, intending to grab his friend and make him listen. He doesn’t get a meter before he falling back in order to avoid the striking snake.

 **I will come back when I am less upset,** is all Forest says before he continues back on his path.

Harry can’t understand what’s happening. **Fo…Forest, I tried! They were going to take _cousinofserpent_ no matter what! I couldn’t—**

His friend says nothing, disappearing around the corner and leaving Harry behind.

Overwhelmed and beyond confused, Harry stays where he is, sprawled on his rear, staring agog at the empty doorway.

“Harry?”

“Yes?” he responds, voice hollow.

He doesn’t see how concerned Draco becomes at the sound. “Are you alright?”

Harry’s mouth feels dry. “…no.”

“Do you wish to be left alone, Heir Potter?”

Harry nods his head to Lord Malfoy’s offer. “Please.”

“Then you will be. However, know that this conversation is not over. There is the matter of your punishment for keeping such a secret, and a dangerous one at that, from us while staying as a guest in our home.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Lady Malfoy glance towards her husband like she wanted to say something, but he shoots her a look and she stops, instead leading Draco to the door. “Do you understand, Heir Potter?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry doesn’t care. He’ll take whatever punishment they give him.

He deserves it.

He betrayed his hatchling. Betrayed his best friend.

Completely useless, can’t do anything right, _Fre—_

“You are welcome to join us for dinner if you wish,” Lord Malfoy says, following his family out. “If not, you may ask Dobby for something to eat in here.”

With that, they leave Harry alone. As soon as the door closes, the first tear falls on to his cheek. A wet gasp escapes his chest. Well versed in stopping himself from crying, the only sound Harry makes in the sudden emptiness of the room is rattled breathing.

He sits there shaking until a tiny, pitiful meow breaks the silence. Looking around, it hits him that Daisy had stayed hidden throughout all the commotion.

He hears another meow and narrows the source down to the bed’s vicinity. He gets on his belly and, there, hiding between two of his shoe boxes, is a pair of bright yellow eyes.

“You okay, Daiz?” He asks her, the nickname rolling off his tongue. He sniffles his dribbling nose and holds out a hand, offering it to Daisy. She takes a moment to inspect it and butt her head against his wrist before she pads forward. Harry brings his legs under him and sits up, helping Daisy climb his leg and chest.

The simple feeling of the purring kitten nuzzling against his shirt makes Harry’s vision blur once more. His throat feels painfully thick and he can’t hold it back anymore; he finally gives in to the need to cry. His tears and breathing quicken as he lies down on his bed, turning on his side and curling in on himself.

In between choked gasps, he starts to talk, trying to get Daisy to understand that he had been nervous since the beginning about owning a dragon hatchling, especially one that he had stolen from Hagrid. But Hagrid might have accidentally hurt the egg and Forest had been so happy and Harry had been excited by the prospect and swept up in the craziness of the wizarding world, so he went along with it. Now though, the dragon hatchling is gone, swiped from his arms, and Forest is beyond upset with him for not trying harder, but what could Harry have done?! Fight her for the hatchling back? If May Fong handles dragons for a living, then she can handle a boy with barely any magic. And it’s not like the Malfoys would have helped, they brought her there in the first place! And Draco didn’t even say anything…

Harry sighs, knowing that’s hardly fair to his friend. Draco can’t go against his parents and probably knew how stupid Harry had been hiding a bloody dragon in his wardrobe in the first place. No, this was all on Harry and now he was dealing with the consequences.

He swipes at his messy cheeks, grateful that Daisy has continued to snuggle against him the whole time he’s rambled at her. His entire body aches, yet he feels strangely empty. Blank.

A heavy, shaky sigh escapes him. He closes his eyes, trying to offer a reprieve to the abused organs.

His sniffles and breaths become fewer and farther between until Harry falls asleep, Daisy doing the same tucked away in his arms. He doesn’t hear Draco open the door an hour later, nor feel the gaze of his concerned friend as he brings out his wand and casts a quiet “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ” to lift the blanket at the foot of Harry’s bed up on to the boy’s sleeping form. Harry doesn’t stir up when the lights are turned off, and he doesn’t wake when the door closes with a quiet snap.

***

Harry sleeps through the night and well into the morning. He only wakes when the sound of Daisy skidding her food bowl across the floor penetrates the thick fog surrounding his mind. He realizes Dobby must have stopped by. He reminds himself yet again that he needs to thank the elf for helping Daisy when he couldn’t.

Even as he thinks it, Harry feels his stomach squirm at the possibility of talking to someone right now. No. No, he still needs to be alone. He’ll thank the overeager elf later when he has the capacity to give him the thanks he deserves.

He stays in bed and reads _Potions Procedures for Dummies_ , warm under the blanket he doesn’t remember pulling up. He only gets up to use the toilet and mess with Daisy. Nobody comes to check on him, for which he is equally thankful for and depressed about.

Of course Forest won’t forgive him, he hates him. And what about the Malfoys? When are they going to tell him he has to leave? That’s undoubtedly what they’ll do; he’s been too much of a bother to stay any longer. Is this part of his punishment? The waiting? Probably. The waiting is always worse.

So he does just that, telling himself that any minute now, they’re going to come in and inform him that he is no longer welcome and he’s no longer Draco’s friend and he’s not to go anywhere near him or the other future Slytherins when Hogwarts starts. It’s fine, he has the flat in his trunk. He can find somewhere out of the way, maybe in the woods, and wait until the end of the month. He’ll be fine.

But nobody comes.

By late afternoon, Harry’s mind starts to remind him that he should be hungry. It takes him by surprise at first; he’s clearly become spoiled eating as often as he has with the Malfoys. Perhaps it is good that his stomach is far too knotted to supply much of an appetite. Feeling restless and almost ghost-like, Harry decides he needs to leave the room. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going to end up. He just needs proof he and Daisy are not completely alone in the world.

Despite his hopeful gaze, he does not see any scales as he traverses the manor’s hallways. He tries to hold back the cloying feeling in his chest at Forest’s continued absence, repeatedly telling himself that the snake is merely out with Artemis getting some fresh air. Away from Harry.

He’ll be back.

He has to.

In his arms, if Daisy notices how his fingers tremble as he pets her, she doesn’t complain. Harry isn’t aware of where he’s walking until the doors to his left open and he’s face to face with Lord Malfoy.

“Heir Potter,” he greets, giving Harry a once over.

Harry’s throat works for a moment before he speaks, voice cracking. “Lord Malfoy.”

The man pauses for a second then turns slightly towards his office, one arm extending towards the interior. “If you are ready to have that conversation now…”

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready but waiting all day has frayed his nerves and he just wants it to be over with. He wants to know how long he has to pack; he needs time to go find Forest before they kick him out.

The doors close behind them and Lord Malfoy gestures for him to sit in one of the seats across from the desk. Harry does so, adjusting his hold on Daisy and avoiding watching the man as he rounds the desk and sits in his impressive chair, cane leaning against the wood.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, Harry looking down at his knees where he doesn’t have to meet the man’s searing gaze.

Eventually, Lord Malfoy speaks. “The events that transpired yesterday evening were understandably upsetting, Heir Potter, for which I apologize.” He seems to wait for a response, but when he doesn’t get one, he continues. “I do not however, regret my actions, not when any alternative would have spelled disaster for yourself and my family.”

Harry nods, the action taking far too much energy. “I understand, sir.”

“Yes. I think you do,” he replies, almost sounding thoughtful. “Nevertheless, there is much you do not understand.”

Finally, Harry looks up, and at his confused expression, Lord Malfoy extrapolates. “I believe Narcissa mentioned the history of dragon conservation to you, yes? Good. I wish for you to complete more research on the matter.” He pulls his wand out from his cane and gives it a wave, murmuring something that Harry realizes might be _Wingardium Leviosa_ because a drawer opens in the desk and out floats several sheafs of parchment along with a quill and pot of ink. They settle on the desk in front of Harry. “I expect three sheets to be filled on the history and impact of dragon poaching, as well as the importance of the dragon reserves and conservation efforts. This is your punishment. You will return your completed essay to me in two days’ time. Any questions?”

Harry frowns; he can’t help it. What does the man mean, this is his punishment? Where’s the belt? Where’s the spells that make it feel like he’s being pulverized by fists? Why isn’t he being shoved outside or into an empty room for the foreseeable future?

It takes Daisy gnawing on his finger to make him concentrate enough to respond. “That’s it?”

The man raises a brow at him. “The second part of your punishment is no quidditch for the remainder of your holiday, Heir Potter, something I was going to inform you of if you had no further questions about your assignment. You may still visit your friends with Draco, but you are forbidden from flying. Disobeying this rule will result in further discipline, something most children tend to stay clear from.”

Harry blinks. Draco hadn’t been simplifying things after all; the Malfoys’ punishments are just homework and not doing something fun. Harry can’t understand it.

“That’s it?”

Lord Malfoy’s eyes narrow at his repeated question. “You are expecting something more drastic?”

When Harry doesn’t openly respond, the man’s features shift ever so slightly into something resembling incredulous. “You are,” he says, voice higher than it usually is before his expression hardens. “What exactly do you expect a fitting punishment to be, Heir Potter? Your grievance showed a great lack of discretion, yes, but it is easily forgiven considering your unfamiliarity with our world and its laws. I am providing you with a punishment fitting of your crime and you find it unsatisfactory?”

Harry blunders, trying to think of what the right answer is. “Yes, I mean, no! I don’t… I don’t know… I don’t expect anything else, sir, I understand the rules, I won’t fly and I’ll have the essay done on time.”

Through Harry’s rambling, Lord Malfoy’s expression doesn’t change. Harry thinks the man might have become a flawless statue until the moment he moves, leaning back in his chair. “Very well. The library is at your disposal, ask an elf to aid you with finding a book if you cannot find it yourself.”

He stands and Harry follows suit, rearranging Daisy so he can grab the parchment and writing supplies. Lord Malfoy walks him to the door.

“Dinner is in two hours,” is all the man says before he closes Harry out in the corridor.

Harry stands there, reeling from the discussion, eventually hearing a sloshing noise. He looks down to find the ink bottle is shaking in his grip.

His whole body is shaking.

He needs to sit down.

Since it’s in the immediate vicinity and will provide distractions, Harry wobbles into the library. He goes past several shelves, finding an alcove where no one passing by the doors will see him. He sits at one of the desks there and sets his supplies down before collapsing into the chair, immediately apologizing to Daisy when she complains about the rough movement.

He sits for a while, mindlessly holding her close. For the first time since yesterday afternoon when he was spending time with his friends — Draco’s friends? — Harry feels like he’s finally inhabiting his body once more. The blank numbness recedes. The dull ache in his bones, however, stays, which is the reason he doesn’t single out the odd yet familiar tugging in his chest until he finally takes the time to look at his surroundings.

With his improved vision, he can now fully appreciate the massive extent of the library and the objects on the walls. When his gaze travels over one painting in particular, a dark-haired man sitting at a desk with an impressive, vaguely-familiar snake draped around his shoulders; the tugging sensation in Harry’s chest _yanks,_ making his breath catch and throat strain.

Without thinking, he sets Daisy down on the desk and strides across the room, eyes never leaving the portrait. He’s unbothered by how the man and snake stare right back, following Harry until he’s standing a meter away, head craning back because of how close he is.

The tugging lessens to a dull throb that matches Harry’s pulse.

**You can see us?**

Harry is a bit confused by the man’s question. **Yes?**

The man slowly rises of his seat while the snake rears its head back. He takes several steps forward in his 2D plane, growing larger as he gets closer.

**Who are you, boy, what is your name?**

**I am Harry Potter, sir, Heir to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.**

**Are you now?** He asks rhetorically, only the slightest twitch in his eye telling Harry how intrigued the man really is. **I have heard of your House. Those within these walls have mentioned it in years past. Tell me, Heir Potter, how is it you’ve come to be blessed with my gift? Only a speaker is worthy of seeing my portrait.**

 _His_ gift? But the first parselmouth was—

**Salazar Slytherin?!**

The tweaking in the man’s facial hair is answer enough to Harry’s question.

Harry gapes, his brain struggling to accept the fact that he’s talking to one of Hogwarts’ founders and his snake. And not just any snake!

 **You are a basilisk?** He asks the serpent who preens at being acknowledged with such awe, now remembering the drawings from _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._

 **This is Rhiannon,** Salazar says, running a hand over the heavy coils on his chest. **Rhia. She is my familiar.**

 **You are very beautiful and powerful** , Harry tells her, and he means it. While she’s not exactly a real basilisk, Harry still admires her luminous eyes and majestic scales. **Your prey must quiver before you.**

Rhiannon lets out a pleased hiss, tail swaying near Salazar’s knees. **I spoke too soon. You are a sssmart hatchling. But my prey does not _quiver_. They _freeze_.**

Her hisses become raspy laughs and Harry gulps at the sound, realizing why her prey freezes. Wait, he’s been looking her in the eye! No, he’s being silly, she can’t hurt him if she’s just a painting…right?

**Fear not, Heir Potter, Rhia’s gaze cannot harm you.**

Harry turns to Salazar, not surprised the man picked up on his internal thoughts. **Is it because she’s not…**

 **Alive?** Rhia cuts in. **No. It is because you are a sssspeaker. I do not harm someone of my master’s blood.**

Well that’s a relief. **What about Lord Malfoy or anyone else who comes to speak to you?**

 **No one speaks to us, hatchling.** Rhia says. **As Master said, no one else can see us. You are the first since the last speaker was here.**

He’s really the only one that can see them? Is there a ward or spell doing that? Isn’t that weird for Lord Malfoy to have a painting in his house he doesn’t even know he has?

**Heir Potter, I still require an answer to my earlier inquiry. I only know of one of my descendant’s current existence; and while you share a likeness and talent, you are not him. Hence, I ask again, how are you a parselmouth?**

**I don’t know, sir.**

Something flickers in the painted man’s dark eyes. **Another question. Why did you walk over here with such urgency, hmm? You obviously did not know who I was, so my reputation is not the answer.**

Harry shifts on his feet. Should he tell the man about the tugging? It sounds crazy enough to himself, he really doesn’t want to admit something weird like that to someone of such importance.

 **I felt like I had to,** he finally admits, looking at the cauldrons bubbling in the painting, rather than the man himself.

A rumbling noise brings his nonplussed attention back to the man who’s…laughing?

 **Oh you _are_ fascinating, Heir Potter _,_** Salazar says, mirth clear. He’s only chuckling, but to Harry’s ears, it’s belly-shaking laughter. His expression must be a mess, because now Rhia is hissing her own amusement. As soon as it began, Salazar’s laughter trails off. He addresses Harry once more. **Your magic drew you here, yes?**

Harry’s nod is hesitant.

The man’s eyes crinkle. **Oh, he is going to love this. Very well, Heir Potter, who am I to go against Mother Magic?**

Abruptly, Salazar’s painting swings forward, nearly bonking into Harry as it rotates on an invisible hinge. Harry steps around, wide-eyed when he finds not just a solid wall, but one with a nook carved into its depths. It’s not empty.

The tugging is back with full force, except now it feels as though Harry’s own magic is reaching forward, trying to pull the hidden item into an embrace. With cautious fingers, Harry slides it out, confused when it’s a simple, weathered book. Only, it’s not simple at all. Magic crackles over the leather surface and Harry’s skin. It doesn’t hurt, on the contrary, it fills him with shivers of eagerness.

In a daze, he steps back and the painting smoothly returns to its original position. Harry tears his eyes away from the book’s cover.

 **What is this?** He asks Salazar.

 **Something that will help you on your way to greatness,** Salazar says, smirk obvious. **You need only ask to see.**

 **Sssomeone approaches,** Rhia suddenly warns, head turned towards the library entrance.

 **Indeed** , Salazar agrees. His smirk disappears as he gives Harry a stern look that makes him snap to attention. **You are not to show anyone that book, Heir Potter. It is for your eyes only. Should anyone else become aware of its presence, it will not bode well for anyone.**

 **Yes, sir.** Harry agrees, already knowing that whatever is written inside is going to be far too important to share with anyone else. Not even Draco.

 **Run along then,** Salazar orders, returning to his desk.

 **Come speak with us before you leave, hatchling** , Rhia demands.

Harry nods his agreement and rushes back to his desk, sliding the book into his robe’s inner pocket as he goes. He finds that Daisy has taken it upon herself to cover the parchment with fur and knocked over his ink bottle. Thankfully none spilled, but her next target may not be so lucky. Harry quickly snatches up the quill just as someone speaks behind him.

“If that’s one of Father’s quills, you might not want to let her get a hold of it.”

Harry turns to Draco, not as tense about being around another person as he had been before speaking with Salazar. A quick glance shows the quill is undamaged, and Harry holds it up to Draco as a show of proof.

The blonde raises an amused brow before looking between Harry and the desk. “What are you working on?”

Harry’s arm drops and he looks down at the blank parchment as well, feeling dumb for not having anything else to prove he’s been working on his assignment. Stupid, _stupid!_ Shouldn’t have gotten distracted. “Your father gave me an assignment.”

“Oh?” Draco asks. “What about?”

“Dragon conservation,” Harry murmurs, shame heating his cheeks.

“Ah,” is all Draco says, no judgement to be heard. “Did you find the books you need?”

Harry blinks at him, bewildered as to why Draco’s not rubbing it in his face that he’s in trouble, or taunting him about getting kicked out. “Uh, no, no, I got distracted.”

“I can help you find them, if you wish.”

“…Really?”

“I’m offering, aren’t I?” Draco sniffs, looking slightly offended. “The sooner you finish the assignment, the sooner you can spend time with _me_.”

Harry’s thoughts grind at that. Draco still wants to spend time with him? And Harry will still be around to do so? No, maybe Draco just doesn’t know that his parents will make Harry leave when he’s finished his assignment.

But wait, Lord Malfoy said his quidditch ban extended through the end of the holiday. He can’t very well keep Harry from doing something if Harry’s not here, can he? So that means…

“Not right now, though,” Draco continues. “Dinner is in a few minutes. Are you eating with us?”

Harry’s stomach grumbles its reply which makes Draco grin. “Come along, then. We’ll look after dinner.”

Dumbly, Harry scoops up Daisy and follows after Draco, leaving his supplies behind. On the way to the dining hall, Draco tells Harry little facts he knows about dragons and the reserves they live on. The boy’s steady speech grounds Harry in a way he doesn’t understand. Maybe having Draco help him with the essay won’t be so bad.

He runs a hand over the outside of his pocket, feeling the spine of his new book. Yes, the sooner he finishes his assignment, the better.

When they enter, Lady Malfoy coos over Daisy and tells Harry to set her down while she summons Cadby to bring some food for the kitten. The Malfoys and Harry sit down to eat while Daisy tucks into her own meal. There is no discussion of the previous night’s events, nor Harry’s assignment, for which he is grateful. His delicious pasta coupled with the melodic flow of the Malfoy’s cultured voices provides a suitable distraction to Harry’s subdued thoughts.

When dinner finishes, he misses the atmosphere immediately. But Draco is there to drag him and Daisy back to the library. He sets Daisy down on a nearby couch and steers Harry towards a section of shelves, tracing his finger along the spines of the books as he reads their titles. He pulls out several, plopping them down into Harry’s arms until they’re straining. When he’s satisfied with his selection, Draco leads the way back to their desk.

When the books are set down, Draco suggests Harry take notes on what he reads before he starts his essay. Draco meanwhile takes up a book he had retrieved for himself, one Harry doesn’t catch the title of, and goes to sit on the couch where he promptly becomes Daisy’s bed.

Harry smiles at the sight before pulling the first of his books close and looking through the index. The ache that had seeped into his bones gradually relents to the comforting sounds of pages turning, his quill scratching, the fire crackling in the room’s fireplace, and Daisy’s faint purring.

As the minutes turn into hours, Harry thinks that this is okay; he can handle this.

He’s going to be okay.

***

Forest still hasn’t returned by morning, or the next, but Harry’s head is filled with the wonders of dragons and Draco’s calm company in the library soothes the rough edges around his hurting heart.

Lord Malfoy is satisfied with Harry’s essay, maybe even a little impressed if Harry read the small lift in his brows right. It’s certainly an odd and silly feeling when Harry realizes he’s a smidge grateful to the man. He almost wants to thank him for making Harry practice his quill writing skills in a form that is going to be a common occurrence once Hogwarts starts. In the end, Harry doesn’t think showing gratitude for a punishment is a good idea, so he stays quiet.

He is relieved beyond belief, however, when it becomes clear that he’s not being kicked out of the manor. Lord and Lady Malfoy don’t even seem mad at him! They still talk to him regularly and ask after his well-being during breakfast. Draco, as expected, is disappointed Harry can’t play quidditch. He also seemed to have expected it, though, so they spend their time doing other things instead.

On the days they don’t spend practicing magic or roaming the manor grounds, Draco and Harry go over to their friends’ manors. Thankfully, Harry isn’t faced with the same scrutiny as he had been at Davis Manor. The Lords and Ladies of the manors he does visit still talk to him far longer than they do any of the other kids, and it makes Harry’s skin crawl regardless of how polite he stays throughout the needling conversations.

The other kids meanwhile seem to find his suffering hilarious and go back and forth between teasing him about it and giving him advice on how best to use the attention to his advantage. Especially when the attention is coming from such influential people as their parents.

Harry takes their words under advisement despite having already planned on gaining allies where he could. With Hogwarts looming on the horizon, Harry needs to be prepared for whatever machinations Dumbledore may try to pull.

At night, Harry devours the rest of his schoolbooks as well as several others on the subjects he had found in the library. He doesn’t care one iota that he’s sleeping far less than he should be. Getting a good night’s rest is far less important than what he’s reading.

One book, especially, needed his full attention.

When he had sat alone in his room that night, save for Daisy dozing in his lap, Harry had run his fingers over the book’s exterior, marveling at the texture and aura he could feel soaking the pages. Pages, he found when he opened it, that were full of swooping, immaculate writing. Harry’s eyes had roved over each letter, noticing how not a drop of ink was wasted, not a single movement unnecessary. And on the inside of the cover, perhaps the greatest piece of information of them all sat in the top right corner.

T.M. Riddle.

The name rolls over his mind, seeping into cracks and imprinting itself on the back of his eyes. Harry imagines what Mister—and Harry assumes T.M. is a male based on Salazar’s words—Riddle looks like, what his initials stand for, what his voice was like…

Because Harry’s internal voice feels like it’s desecrating the treasure trove hidden within the diary’s pages. And it is a diary, he discovers.

For hours, Harry sat captivated by Riddle’s detailing of the secret passageways in the castle, where the kitchens are, the structure of Slytherin House politics, goblin and other creature etiquette, thoughts about classes, comments on spells, charms, even hexes Harry’s never read about, potion-making advice, and full-page profiles on his professors, including one Albus Dumbledore.

Additionally, although he barely wrote about his time there, Harry saw a glimpse of Riddle’s life at Wool’s Orphanage in a country suffering from World War Two. The comparison between how the other orphans and the Matron treated Riddle is uncomfortably close to how the Dursleys dealt with Harry.

Without consciously deciding it, Harry felt a kinship bloom with the boy living in the pages. His experiences, internal monologue, desires, and distrust of his transfiguration professor all mirrored Harry’s own in a way that steals his breath.

Riddle thought himself to be a muggleborn Slytherin until his fifth year when he discovered his heritage as Salazar Slytherin’s descendant! With that transformation into being, not only a half-blood, but a legacy of one of the Founders; a Pandora’s Box of possibilities had opened for Riddle.

Actually, it was less of a box and more of a hidden underground lair.

The Chamber of Secrets, Harry couldn’t believe it! It wasn’t a myth! It was hiding right there under the school, the entrance being a girl’s bathroom on the second floor. And Rhia! Rhia was somehow still down there! Or at least she had been when Riddle was a student, which Harry knows to have been several decades ago.

This led to Harry questioning how Riddle’s diary had ended up being behind Salazar Slytherin’s portrait in the Malfoy Manor. He found his answer in one of Riddle’s later entries. A close associate was mentioned: Abraxas Malfoy. While Riddle hadn’t written about why he hid the diary in Abraxas’s family manor, Harry assumed it was because Abraxas was a trusted friend. And since the diary had so many imbued protections preventing anyone but a parselmouth from finding it, he didn’t have to worry about it being taken.

But Abraxas wasn’t the only one Riddle had trusted. Rabastian, Aiden, Druella, Orion, Ballard, Cygnus, Edmund, Walburga, Humphrey, Lucretia, and Milton were all fellow students Riddle mentioned multiple times. He didn’t really talk about them as if they were friends, Harry noticed. It was more like he catalogued what they were good at, who they spoke with, what their parents’ standings in society were, and if they succeeded in doing something Riddle asked of them. He also included the outcome of their mission, successful or not.

A few of their names, Druella, Orion, Cygnus, Walburga, and Lucretia, Harry remembered to be names he saw in the Black family. Whether or not they were the same people, he wasn’t sure.

Near the end of the diary, a niggling thought began to surface and take shape in Harry’s mind, having previously been bogged down by his fascination of the writer.

Abraxas Malfoy was the trusted friend of T.M. Riddle. His son, Lucius Malfoy, was an admitted Death Eater, follower of the Dark Lord. Narcissa Malfoy née Black came from a family associated with Riddle. In their home was the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, who knows of only one other parselmouth in existence: his descendant.

Lord Voldemort is the only other known parselmouth in recent years.

Harry stared at the book in his lap, scared to touch it. Was it possible? The ambitious boy in the pages, the _genius_ that wrote like a poet, the teenager who wanted the world…

A murderer?

Harry closed the book and set it aside, rolling over in his bed.

He should get rid of it.

He should give it back to Salazar to hide away for who knows how many more years.

He needs to destroy it.

That thought causes his stomach to twist. He rolls back over to face the book, absently petting Daisy in apology for disrupting her sleep.

The book wasn’t written by Lord Voldemort. It couldn’t have been. How could the person who killed Harry’s parents be so talented, so smart, so…damaged?

Is that how Harry’s going to turn out? They had such similar childhoods after all. And now Harry’s befriending a Malfoy. The grandson of Voldemort’s friend.

Harry reaches out and grabs the book. It would take one thought, one word. It’s just paper. It would be ash in seconds. No one would know. Harry could forget.

But _he doesn’t want to._

Hating himself, Harry leans over the side of the bed and opens one of his shoe boxes, slipping the book inside before pushing the box further back into the dust.

There.

Out of sight.

He flops back on to the pillows and curls up on his side, letting Daisy snuggle under his chin.

Sleep escapes him for a long time.

More than ever, he wished Forest wasn’t upset with him. He's seen nary a sign of the snake’s presence since their fight, and according to Draco, Artemis had been missing as well.

“They’re probably doing snake things, Harry, quit overreacting,” Draco said, waving his concerns away. “It was just an egg, he’ll get over it.”

But it didn’t feel like Harry was overreacting. Each time he woke up, he expected to feel the familiar smooth coils nearby, only to reach out and find nothing but fabric and fur. Sometimes he would think of something and murmur it under his breath, expecting a reply from his friend.

He never got one.

A couple days ago, he couldn’t wait any longer and searched the inside of the manor high and low. When he found nothing, he finally accepted that Forest was committed to avoiding him and had found a small hiding place out of Harry’s reach. Or he was outside.

If that was the case, Harry had a very slim chance of finding him. Harry had panicked, thinking the reason for Forest’s absence was because he was hurt, or worse _dead_ , eaten up by something deadlier than him. It was all he could do not to go shouting across the manor grounds, combing the land meter by meter. The only things stopping him were Draco’s words and his own confidence in Forest’s ability to stay safe. The snake had survived being carted in a tree from his home in the wild all the way to the Dursley house, hadn’t he?

Harry sighs with weary exhaustion, telling himself that Forest will return when he’s ready, not a moment sooner. For now, there’s nothing Harry can do about it.

As he falls asleep, the secret beneath the bed burns a hole through his awareness, eager to consume him whole.

***

“Are you prepared for tomorrow, Heir Potter?”

It was Saturday morning, the Thirty-First of August. In a little over a day, Harry and Draco would be at Hogwarts.

“As well as I can be, sir,” he tells Lord Malfoy, going with the honest answer.

“I don’t know why you’re worrying, Harry,” Draco says. Harry can practically hear the boy’s eye roll. “We get to spend hours with our friends travelling up the Isle, finishing the day with a feast. It’ll be brilliant, especially when we’re sorted into Slytherin and get our own rooms in the dungeons.”

“Slytherins get their own rooms?” Harry asks. That hadn’t been mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History_.

“Well of course we do,” Draco says, eyes lighting up. “Unlike Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in their towers, the Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons, which are _massive_. There’s plenty of room for everyone to have their own space. Hufflepuffs are in the basement near the kitchens, but I heard each year still sleeps in two dorms. Right, Mother?”

“I have never been inside the dormitories themselves,” Lady Malfoy says, cutting up a thin slice of ham on her plate. “From my observations of their common room, however, the Badgers are not short on space in their cellar.”

“Mother and Father were both Prefects then Head Boy and Girl during their final years,” Draco tells Harry, sipping from his pumpkin juice. “They’ve been in all the common rooms. Father still has access whenever he wants since he’s on the school’s Board.”

“What’s being a Prefect like?” Harry questions the adults.

Lord and Lady Malfoy share a glance and Harry wants to know what sort of stories are behind the twitch in their cheeks.

“A lot of responsibility,” Lady Malfoy tells him. “Many hours spent patrolling or aiding students and professors.”

“Prefects are allowed to add or remove House points and assign detention,” Lord Malfoy contributes, not bothering to hide his self-important smirk. “You are given more leniency than other students, but expectations are much higher for you.”

That makes sense. Harry turns to Draco. “Do you want to be a Prefect when we’re old enough?”

Draco’s eyes flit to his parents before he responds. “It looks good on your record. And like Father said, Prefects and Head Students are given certain luxuries. Like giant bubble baths.”

Harry snorts, thinking Draco’s joking, and turns back to his kippers. He knows Prefects are chosen by Heads of House, but he decides that if he is offered the position, he will decline. It is clear that Draco wants to be one, or that his parents expect him to be chosen. Since both he and Harry can’t be Prefect if they’re in the same House, Harry won’t get in Draco’s way.

If Harry’s sorted elsewhere… Well, then it would be okay. No matter what, that’s years away, so he puts the whole idea on the back burner for now.

After breakfast, he retreats to his room under the preface of packing. In reality, he pulls out his Moribund wand as well as _Curses and Counter-Curses_ from their hiding places. Over the past fortnight, he’d skimmed the books he’d gotten from Borgin and Burkes. He hadn’t, however, delved too deep into their contents. He’d treated them as a reward of sorts. Now that he was suitably prepared for his classes, he was letting himself indulge in his taboo side project.

Sighing when the Moribund wand greets his magic with a warm pulse, Harry focuses and sends a _Colloportus_ at the door. He notices how much easier casting with the Moribund wand is, it doesn’t feel like he’s funneling his magic through anything. It’s not as responsive as his wandless casting is, but it’s close, and that makes Harry even more satisfied with his decision to purchase it.

With the minor protection on the room, Harry flips to the page he wants. He studies the incantation pronunciation and wand movement for the Full Body-Bind Curse. He has absolutely no desire to attempt any curses on Daisy or Forest, not that his scaly friend is around, so he’s resigned to casting them at his pillows. He hopes that if he ever needs to apply them to an enemy, he’ll be able to do them first try.

That being said, the book mentions that the way to undo the Body-Bind Curse is with a simple _Finite._ Maybe Draco would be willing to practice it with him sometime.

Moving on, he reviews the Jelly-Legs, Leg-Locker, Tongue-Tying, and Hair Loss Curses as well as the Stickfast and Tickling Hexes, then the Pimple Jinx. Satisfied that he has them all memorized, Harry brings out _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_. Flipping through that, he practices the incantation and motions for the Instant Scalping, Pepper Breath, and Horn Tongue Hexes. Some of them sound particularly nasty; something that gives Harry great pleasure.

He’d read _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ one afternoon and immediately felt disgusted by it. The book had been informative, sure, but its retelling of the night Harry’s parents were murdered and Harry’s proceeding instant fame was despicable. It was almost worse than _The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Adventure_! While the writer hadn’t known the specifics as to why Harry’s parents were targeted or how Voldemort found the Potters, they had somehow gotten a detailed description of what the Godric’s Hollow cottage looked like on the inside, including how James Potter had been sprawled on the stairs, eyes still open, and Lily Potter was collapsed in front of Harry’s crib.

And who caused such horrors?

The monster under his bed.

His imagination’s vivid recreation of what happened that night made Harry want to either vomit or cry. The night that spelled the end of the boy in the pages and the beginning of Hell for Harry resulted in a handsome paycheck for the author of the book. Of _all_ the books who discussed Voldemort’s defeat in depth. 

It made Harry furious. But it also made him cautious. He took note of the obvious worship the writer and most of the wizarding world had for Lily and James Potter, heroes and Gryffindors until the end.

Harry wasn’t like them.

He has been on his own for too long, suffered too much to care for someone enough to lay down his life for theirs. He’ll take a beating or a hex in their place, but to die?

He’s just found a whole new world, a safe haven.

He won’t give it up for anything. Or anyone.

He knows this mentality will not make people happy. He doesn’t doubt they expect him to be a small version of his parents. Hagrid, Ollivander, and the people in the Leaky Cauldron were already prime examples of this. They are certainly in for a big surprise.

Not that Harry cares.

He’s spent the past ten years being a disappointment.

He can handle whatever a bunch of strangers think of him.

***

After a bit more practice and actual packing, Harry decides to take a break. Daisy, who isn’t the tiny, fragile thing she was a few weeks ago, slinks after his heels out the door. He notices that Draco’s door is open.

In the near month he’d stayed at the manor, Harry hadn’t gotten a good look at Draco’s room. From the doorway, he observes the light browns and dark greens covering the walls and furniture. The corner of his mouth quirks. Definitely a Slytherin’s room.

He looks to the left when Draco emerges from his walk-in closet, several items of clothing draped over his arm. “You done packing?” he asks when he spots Harry.

“Nearly,” approaching the bed when Draco beckons him in.

Draco ignores Daisy sniffing the boots organized by his bed and sets the clothes down on the duvet, adding to the already existing pile. “Mother was here a while ago,” he tells Harry, moving things around in his trunk. Harry notices it’s much bigger on the inside than it appears, though doesn’t seem to have rooms like Harry’s does. “She was trying to re-organize everything in here. Honestly, as if I’m not going to be removing it all tomorrow night when I’m unpacking.”

That sounds like something a mother would do. Harry gives him a thin smile. “Are you bringing anything that’s not on the list?”

“A few things,” Draco says, unsurprisingly not going into any specifics.

“How are you going to keep Artemis hidden? Is she going to stay in her terrarium in your room?” It had been something Harry had been meaning to ask Draco for some time.

Draco straightens up, one brow raised. “No, she’ll be coming around with me, obviously. That’s what you’ll be doing with Forest, isn’t it?”

Harry tilts his head. “Well, yeah, but he’ll be under my shirt and he can tell me when he wants to eat or go do something. You won’t be able to understand Artemis if she’s under your clothes, and it’s not like we can keep her secret if I keep leaning over to talk to your shirt.”

Draco blinks then narrows his eyes, speaking slowly. “You are aware that snakes are allowed at Hogwarts, yes?”

No?

“But the letter said—”

“The letters are rubbish,” Draco interrupts. “Snakes are one of the animals listed as allowable according to the Hogwarts Charter, which can’t be overruled, not even by the Headmaster. They just say cat, toad, and owl nowadays to help contain things and keep muggle-born kids from trying to bring their dogs or other odd muggle pets.”

Should Harry feel stupid? He feels pretty stupid. “Oh.”

“ _You_ especially are allowed to have Forest with you,” Draco adds, going back to sorting his trunk. “You’re a parselmouth and he’s your familiar. It was one of Salazar Slytherin’s non-negotiables with the Charter.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m a parselmouth.”

Draco’s quirked brow is back. “Why not? Because of the Dark Lord?”

“Yeah… I don’t want to be labeled as evil so soon.”

“Oh? Then you’d be fine with being called evil later on?”

Harry’s grin is shark-like. “We’ll see.”

Draco studies him for a moment before his shoulder and ear quickly tilt towards one another in a shrug. “Alright. But for the record, not _everyone_ will think it’s an evil ability.”

“I know,” Harry says. “And I don’t really care what anyone thinks. I just don’t want extra attention on me. Or _any_ attention, but I suppose I can’t avoid some of it.”

Draco laughs at Harry’s scowl. “Poor Harry Potter, who’s going to save our Savior from his hordes of fans?”

Grinning mischievously, Harry looks him in the eye and, with some effort, transforms his features into a mirror image of Draco’s. “They can’t find me if I’m not Harry Potter.”

Now it’s Draco’s turn to scowl. “You’re still shorter than me,” he mutters petulantly.

Harry snorts, happy with the teasing. He runs a hand through his blonde hair. While the length matches Draco’s, his friend’s lies immaculately back against his head, whereas Harry’s sticks every which way.

“How do you keep your hair slicked back so well?” he asks.

“Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion,” Draco grins. “‘Two drops tames even the most bothersome barnet’. You should try it sometime; you might actually look presentable without that nest you call hair. Come to think of it, I think it was created by Fleamont Potter, your great-grandfather or something.”

Harry straightens at that tidbit of information. He remembers Fleamont Potter from his lineage test, though he didn’t know he had invented a potion!

“Do you think they’ll give me a discount if I buy some?” he jokes.

“You’re Harry Potter, I’m sure they’ll give you the lot if they can boast that you use their product.”

“No, I can’t let them give me all of it. You’d never leave your room if you couldn’t get all gussied up!”

A pillow to the face is Draco’s retort.

***

By dinner time, Harry can no longer pretend like Forest’s absence isn’t bothering him. Another search around the manor had been unsuccessful, and he’s certain his glum disposition is radiating off him.

“I received a letter today, Heir Potter,” Lord Malfoy says when they’re finishing dessert. Harry looks up, not sure why the man’s telling him this. “It was from May Fong.”

Harry’s back cracks as he straightens, staring at Lord Malfoy with a silent plea to tell him good news.

The man’s chin tilts down slightly as he pulls out an envelope from his pocket. “It would seem there were very few complications during the hatching process.”

He hands the envelope over, and Harry doesn’t care that Lady Malfoy and Draco are watching him with rapt attention. Fingers trembling lightly, he pulls out the contents and reads.

_Lucius,_

_We have a new dragon on the reserve. A female Hungarian Horntail hatched earlier this month. She is healthy so far and been adopted by the resident nesting mother Horntail._

_Whoever kept the egg safe until it could be brought here has my thanks. Horntails are rare enough as it is, but our nesting mother is the only one of her kind in the world._

_As you can imagine, our newest addition has stirred much excitement around here. She has been named Hera, for she heralds the coming of a thriving future._

_Best regards,_

_May Fong_

Harry lowers the letter, exhaling deeply. He grudgingly compliments Fong for her clever way of informing Lord Malfoy while keeping any suspicion away from all of them.

His hatchling, _Hera_ , is one of the rarest dragons in the world! She was safe, she was healthy, and it was thanks to Harry and Forest.

He laughs, the sound coming out breathy, tension within his chest finally uncoiling.

“There is another item in the envelope,” Lord Malfoy informs him.

Harry turns it upside down and out falls a smaller piece of paper. He turns the square over, jaw dropping when he finds a moving photo of baby Hera. The little Horntail is maybe the size of Ripper the bulldog, with black scales and yellow eyes. In the picture, she tilts her head side to side, showing off the tiny horns on the top of her head. The spikes on her tail glint in the sunlight when it swishes around her four, sharp-clawed feet.

To think, the feisty miracle used to be in his _wardrobe_.

“It’s a _Horntail_?!” Draco squeaks from next to Harry, having leaned over to snoop.

“She is,” Harry says, grinning. He passes the letter to Draco to read.

“Female Horntails are quite rare, are they not?” Lady Malfoy questions.

“Indeed,” her husband nods. “Regardless of the legalities behind the egg’s previous ownership, someone has done the dragon population a great service.”

Harry’s cheeks turn pink under the adults’ pointed looks.

“I imagine this information may bring any concerned parties some comfort,” Lady Malfoy says when she finishes reading the letter after Draco. “It will be a few weeks yet before any visits can be arranged, but an update wouldn’t go remiss.”

Harry’s eyes widen. Forest! He has to go tell him the good news!

He smiles at the adults. “May I be excused, please?”

“You may,” Lord Malfoy says. “The letter is yours. If you need to find anything, a house-elf can assist you.”

Catching on and smacking himself in the forehead for not thinking of asking an elf for help finding Forest sooner, Harry takes the letter and picture on his way out the door.

In the main hall, he calls for Dobby, the small creature beaming up at him, a bewildered Daisy in his grip.

“Thanks for watching her, Dobby,” Harry says, laughing when the kitten wriggles in Dobby’s stick-like arms.

“It be Dobby’s pleasure, Young Master Harry, sir!” Dobby exclaims, letting Daisy down. She immediately crowds around Harry’s legs, chirping up at him. “The flower with fur be eating all her dinner!”

Harry smiles in appreciation before switching gears. “Dobby, can I ask you something?”

Dobby takes an eager step forward. “But of course, sir, of course! Anything!”

“Do you by chance know how to find my friend, Forest?”

Dobby’s ear touches his elbow when he tilts his head. “Is that His Greatness’s snake?”

“He’s my friend, but yeah, he’s a snake.”

The elf gives a short nod then closes his eyes, brow crumpling. Harry waits patiently, watching Dobby’s fingers twitch and head turn as though he’s listening for something. Less than a minute later, he’s opening his bulbous eyes.

“Dobby be showing you where your tree is, sir!” He reaches out both hands, long fingers gripping Harry’s wrist and under Daisy’s chest. With a swooping, sucking motion, the three of them pop away. When they land, Harry’s mildly disoriented until the point he realizes that he just apparated for the first time. Well, Dobby did the apparating, but still.

Wait, how was Dobby able to apparate within the wards? Is that something just house-elves are able to do?

He starts to ask, except that’s the moment he notices where they are.

“Um, Dobby?” He says, casting a confused look around his bedroom before looking at the pleased elf. “I think you got a bit confused. Forest isn’t in my room.”

“But he is, sir, he is!” Dobby exclaims, defending himself. He points to the wardrobe and Harry’s stomach falls. “Your tree with scales be in there!”

Stepping around Daisy, Harry approaches the wardrobe with slow steps. This is silly, there’s no way Forest is…

…lying in the bottom of his wardrobe.

**Forest?**

The previously sleeping snake twitches his head in Harry’s direction before shoving it under his piled coils, desire to be left alone inherently clear.

Harry stares, at a loss. When and how did Forest even get in here? He looks over his shoulder at the room’s other two inhabitants. “Thank you, Dobby.”

Dobby gives him a hesitant smile before popping out of the room. Daisy on the other hand spots one of Harry’s shoelaces hanging from a box and prowls towards it.

In careful increments, Harry sits down in front of the empty wardrobe’s opening, watching Forest’s rigid body for a while before he tries speaking again.

**Forest…**

Expecting the reaction, but disheartened nonetheless, Harry doesn’t flinch when, faster than he can blink, Forest whirls around and flashes his dripping fangs, hissing nonsensical outrage.

Harry says nothing, opting to hold up the one thing he can offer.

Forest’s fury melts away as fast as it appeared, his pupils dilating at the sight before him.

**…our hatchling?**

Harry nods, looking at the picture of Hera before back at his astonished friend. **They named her Hera.**

Forest leans closer, captivated by Hera’s image.

 **She’s healthy,** Harry goes on, glad Forest has calmed some. **Her hatching went well, and the Sanctuary’s nesting mother Horntail took her in. She’s safe.**

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Forest’s eyes narrow and his jaw unhinges. **Our hatchling would have been safe with us! She does not need a nesting mother, she needs us!**

Harry hates how he flinches back from his friend. **Forest, have you seen Hungarian Horntails when they’re grown? They’re one of the fiercest breeds there is! They’re covered in spikes!**

**So? She is a mighty _cousinofserpent_ , of course she can defend herself.**

**That’s not the point! How could we have kept her safe and kept her warm when we couldn’t even get close to her?!**

**My scales would be fine against her tiny spikes** , Forest dismisses.

 **What about my skin, huh?** Harry retorts. **She could have hurt me.**

 **Yesss because you’re just a pesky human,** the serpent spits out, unforgiving. **_Cousinofserpent_ didn’t need a useless hatchling, and neither do I!**

The words hit him harder than any fist has. Breath caught in his burning chest, Harry stares at Forest, not realizing he’s crying until a drop hits the letter in his hand with a soft _plop_.

At the sound, something clears in Forest’s eyes. He stares at the tear stain that’s joined by a second, then a third. **Harry hatchling…**

 **No,** Harry whispers, throat too clogged to voice much else. **No.**

_Useless._

He’s standing, hands empty; the letter and picture remaining on the ground in front of his first friend.

**Do whatever you want, Forest. I don’t care.**

_This wasn’t how it was supposed to be._

Barely aware enough to remove his shoes and clothes, Harry finds himself under the duvet in the dark room, unable to acknowledge Daisy when she curls up against his chest.

Harry doesn’t hear Forest, but he knows he’s not where he should be.

Next to Harry.

_Useless._

He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t care. _He doesn’t_.

He’ll repeat it as long as he needs to. He has to believe it eventually. Right?

_Useless._

***

“You do know you’re supposed to save some learning for when we’re actually in school, right?”

Draco’s teasing struggles to breach the thick emptiness that is Harry’s mind.

Learning? School?

Oh. Right.

They start Hogwarts today. The train leaves in a few hours.

“Honestly, Harry, did you read through the night?”

Harry knows he looks a mess. There’s nothing he can do about it.

“Are you all packed, Draco?” Lady Malfoy’s question is a blessing.

“Yes, Mother,” Draco answers. “I finished yesterday afternoon.”

“You have everything you need for Hedwig and Artemis?”

“ _Yes_.”

“And your broom?”

“Ye- _no!_ No!”

“Is that so?”

“…I’ll keep it in my trunk.”

“Draco.”

“No one will know!”

“ _Draco_.”

“Breaking rules so soon, Son?” Ah, Lord Malfoy is still here then. Harry hadn't registered his presence.

“I’m not breaking any rules if they don’t know I’m breaking them, Father.”

“No.”

Draco’s heavy sigh and murmured, “ _fine_ ”, washes over Harry. He blinks, aware that there’s a fork in his hand and plate of food before him.

He doesn’t remember if he's eaten any of it or not.

“How about you, Harry? You have everything you need?”

 _No_.

He’s missing the most important thing in the world.

He nods, the Malfoys taking his silence in stride.

“We will be flooing to the station at half past ten,” Lord Malfoy tells them. “That will give you ample time to locate your friends and a suitable compartment.”

“I thought you said we should sit in the last carriage, where it’s open seating.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Lady Malfoy says dryly. “Be warned, the older students may not take kindly to their stomping grounds being taken over by a horde of First Years.”

“They’ll get over it,” Draco says, tone haughty. “No one’s going to make Harry or me move if we don’t want to.”

“I look forward to reading about your success in the post tomorrow.”

Harry rises from his stupor a bit. They expect Draco to write to them so soon after leaving them? Yes, obviously, of course they do, he’s their son, they want to know everything—

“We will await a letter from you as well, Heir Potter.”

That finally startles Harry into having enough energy to raise his head. He frowns at Lord Malfoy.

The man ducks his chin in a small nod. “We will undoubtedly hear from Draco what House you are both sorted into, however, do know that a letter from you will not go ignored.”

“We would love it if you wrote to us, Harry,” Lady Malfoy adds when Harry continues to frown at Lord Malfoy. “As often or as little as you’d like. We shall do the same. I have no desire to wait until Yule before we speak again.”

They’re going to write to him and want him to write back? Wait, Yule? Why would they care about…

“You can send them off with Hedwig,” Draco offers, taking the last bite of his breakfast. “Merlin knows one of the Hogwarts owls will sully any letters we send.”

Harry’s head moves up and down without him realizing he's agreeing to something.

“May we please be excused?” Draco begs.

“Yes. If you have nothing else to do, perhaps while you’re returning your broom to the shed, you and Heir Potter can take a detour to the pitch.”

Harry looks up, feeling just as cautiously optimistic as Draco sounds. “But I thought…”

“I believe the holidays are over,” Lord Malfoy says, speaking with an air of nonchalance. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Draco nods emphatically and Harry feels his spirit lifted a centimeter.

“Come on, Harry!"

Harry allows himself to be pulled from the dining hall and through the manor.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong with you, Scarhead?”

Harry glances at Draco then back at his feet. He shrugs.

“Oh, okay. I thought it might have something to do with that snake of yours being in my room earlier.”

Harry’s head snaps up only to just as quickly fall and turn away, hiding his hasty blinking from the blonde.

“Ah, clearly I was wrong,” Draco says, having not missed any of Harry’s reaction. “Then you’re fine if he rides the train with me and Artemis?”

A flicker of relief makes itself known, however much Harry hates it. _Forest still wants to go to Hogwarts!_

But not with Harry.

Of course he doesn’t, why would he when he has Draco? Draco who has a family, who is smart, can do magic, who isn’t…

 _Useless_.

“I don’t care.” _He doesn’t_.

“If you say so,” Draco quips, stepping into his bedroom.

Harry mechanically dresses in the quidditch robes he had left out; they weren’t his, after all, and he wouldn’t be using them at Hogwarts. Daisy isn’t in the room, likely off with Dobby, soaking up as much of the elf’s adoration while she can.

The thought makes Harry’s mood sink back into the depths. He’s been neglecting Daisy, hasn’t he? It had taken one look at the Menagerie to know he wanted her in his life. And yet, he’s barely spent any time with her these past couple weeks.

He’ll have to change that.

Now that his best friend is…

Yes. He’ll do better.

***

Flying helps.

While he’s not as giddy as Draco, Harry nevertheless feels lighter having swooped through the skies for a couple hours. He’s getting dressed in the outfit he’d set aside, hair still slightly damp from his bath. His trunk is packed, school possessions stowed away in the compartment separate from the flat hidden inside. The Moribund wand, questionable books, Riddle’s diary (he swallowed down the self-disgust and guilt at having kept it), Gringotts keys, pouch, cards, and statements are in a box under the bed in his flat, safe from anyone that doesn’t have his magical signature. His daypack contains a change of school robes, several books, a few galleons for the train’s sweets trolley, enough kitten food for the evening’s meal, and a packed lunch Dobby gave him when he brought said Daisy back. Harry appreciates it, even if his appetite is still absent. He also appreciated the elf’s teary goodbye and offer to help Harry should he need it during the school term.

He scopes out his room one more time, checking under the bed to make sure all his shoes were packed. The wardrobe is vacant, same with the bathroom. He’d made his bed, even though he’s sure the elves are going to clean the sheets as soon as he’s gone in any case. It still felt polite to do so.

Forest isn’t in the room. Harry doesn’t expect otherwise.

With a _Wingardium Leviosa_ , Harry floats his trunk ahead of him down the stairs, daypack on his shoulder, Daisy’s carrier held in one hand, said kitten trailing after him. It’s five till ten; Harry sets down his belongings before heading to the library. He has one more thing to do.

***

**You are leaving.**

Harry nods at Salazar, marveling at how long Rhia truly is, watching her body trail around the painting’s room. **We’ll be at Hogwarts by tonight.**

Salazar nods absently. **You travel by train, do you not? In my day, there was no such contraption. Students portkeyed, flew, rode, or walked from all over the Isle, end even from the continent.**

**Flew?**

**Brooms** , Salazar’s smile is wry. **Where do you think muggles got their imagery of witches on brooms? Some students were spotted during their travels, it was unavoidable.**

Harry hadn’t thought about that before.

 **Will you come visit me, hatchling?** Rhia speaks up, halting in front of Harry. **It has been so long since I’ve had a visitor.**

**You mean in the Chamber?**

**Yessss. The last speaker said I have grown since Salazar died,** Rhia boasts.

Harry tilts his head. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ did mention that basilisks grow until their deaths. If this painting was done when Salazar was alive, then Rhia must be…

**I bet I could snap you up in _one bite_ , little hatchling.**

Harry’s nose wrinkles from that pleasant imagery. **But I have not met you, the alive you. How do I know you aren’t going to attack me right away? Especially since you’ve been down there for so long. When was the last time you ate?**

 **This is not my only portrait,** Salazar says. He points towards a doorway Harry had assumed was to make the painted room more realistic. **We journey through there to my other portrait quite often. It is in my quarters within the Chamber. We have told Rhia in the Chamber that you are coming.**

 **And I do not need to eat, hatchling,** Rhia supplies. **I have no need. You are ssssafe from me.**

 **Magic sustains her** , Salazar explains further at Harry’s dubious expression. **She has free reign of the castle, the pipes in the Chamber lead all over, even on to the grounds. If she left the Chamber for too long, however, the magic sustaining her will fail and she will need to eat to live.**

 **So you must come visit often** , Rhia orders Harry. **Do not make me come find you.**

 **It may be a while,** Harry admits. **I’ll be busy and around a lot of people. It will take me some time to sneak away to the entrance.**

 **Fine** , Rhia pouts. **But not too long. Or I will come petrify everyone around you so that they will leave you alone.**

Harry blanches. **Tha-That’s okay, I’ll come by!**

 **Good** , Rhia hisses, smug.

There is a pause and Harry finally brings up the elephant in his trunk. **I read Riddle’s diary. I know who he is. Who he became.**

Salazar studies him before seeming to come to a decision. **A word of advice, Heir Potter?**

Curious as to where the man’s thoughts are going, Harry nods, subconsciously taking a step closer.

 **All is not as it seems** , the Founder says, voice imperious with other-worldly knowledge. **Trust your instincts, and above all else, protect yourself.**

Harry feels the words bury a permanent spot of residence for themselves within his mind and heart.

 **Yes, sir** , he replies, words slow and thick on his tongue.

The man gives a short, satisfied nod, despite not giving Harry a direct answer. His head tilts towards the library’s entrance. **The Malfoys are gathering in the main hall. Our time is at an end. For now. We will speak more in the Chamber.**

**Visit ssssoon, hatchling!**

Harry bids the pair goodbye and returns to the main hall, reeling from the discussion. He finds the Malfoys speaking around the chairs in front of the fireplace, Draco’s luggage next to Harry’s. Daisy lays curled up next to the mantle, toasting herself by the flames.

“There you are!” Draco says, looking to be on the verge of bouncing. “We’ve been waiting forever!”

“You have been down here not five minutes,” Lady Malfoy smiles. “Harry is right on time.”

“A few minutes early, in fact,” Lord Malfoy says, waving away a _Tempus_ that had been hovering nearby. He motions for Harry to come closer. The boy does so with careful steps, nearly jumping when Lord Malfoy puts a calm hand on his shoulder. “We have very much enjoyed your time here with us, Harry. We hope you have as well.”

 _‘Harry’?_ His mind spins with the not entirely unpleasant floating feeling the man’s warm hand incites. The man has never called him by his first name before, let alone touched him. Why is he doing it now? Oh, right, he asked a question.

“I did, Lord Malfoy, sir, thank you very much for…” He looks between the man and Lady Malfoy, hoping his eyes say what he cannot. “…for everything," he finishes lamely.

“You are family,” Lady Malfoy beams, reaching up to brush a stray hair away from Harry’s eyes, careful not to dislodge the fringe purposefully styled to cover his scar. “We take care of our own.”

Their gentle touches are almost too much for Harry to bare, too smothering after having gone so long without anything like it. It’s so… _parent-like_.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy,” he rasps.

She leans down a tad, speaking in a conspiring way. “I think it only fair we drop the formalities from here on out, Harry. If you feel comfortable doing so, you may call us Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius.”

The terms ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ make Harry’s stomach roil, but Lady Malfoy’s earnest face before him eases some of his inner turmoil. Lord Malfoy nevertheless seems to pick up on it.

“It is up to your discretion, but we would be honored if you considered us as such.”

Swallowing harshly, Harry peeks up at the man, knocked off kilter yet again with the smile he receives. He doesn’t understand why they’re being so kind; he’s been _bad_. Been a burden.

Apparently, Lady Malfoy disagrees. She cups his face with cool hands on either side, and plants a kiss on top of his head. Frozen, Harry nearly stumbles when Lord Malfoy pats him twice on the shoulder then releases him.

Trying to figure out what just happened, Harry stares at a smirking and patiently waiting Draco, worried the boy would be angry. He looks anything but, which only confuses Harry further. He misses most of Draco’s goodbyes with his parents, only hearing snippets of ‘Severus’, ‘flying’, ‘structure’, and ‘classes’; the rest not making it through his dazed bewilderment. It’s not until Lord Malfoy releases Draco from a brief embrace that Harry’s awareness returns.

“You should secure your familiars now,” Lord Malfoy says to them both. “We will be flooing directly on to the platform.”

Head filled with cotton, Harry manages to place Daisy in her carrier and seal it before she can escape, ending up promising the annoyed cat that he’ll let her out on the train.

Draco brings a hand up to his chest in a gesture Harry is all too familiar with. He meets Draco’s eye and the blonde nods, confirming that he has two hitchhikers on him. Harry thinks he should feel angry.

He just feels resigned.

Lady Malfoy takes Daisy and Harry’s luggage through while Lord Malfoy brings Draco’s trunk. Hedwig is already headed towards Hogwarts, so Draco isn’t left toting her around. The two boys travel by themselves with their daypacks.

Draco goes first and Harry casts one more glance around the beautiful manor—the first place he considered _safe_ —then follows after his friend.

***

Platform 9 ¾ is overwhelming.

That’s the first thing Harry thinks when they arrive. There are children running all about, luggage rumbling, parents bustling their kids about while saying harried goodbyes. Owls are hooting, cats are warbling, and the stray toad croaks under a cacophony of rattling metal cages. Steam filters through the air, machinery and the smell of thrumming bodies thickening the atmosphere.

“You have plenty of time to board,” Lady Malfoy tells them, speaking only slightly louder than usual in order to be heard. Harry notices that she, Draco, and Lord Malfoy have all put on their ‘masks’, faces immovable by the chaos around them. The reason why is clear: already their presence has some people staring.

All sound cuts out abruptly and Harry turns to find that Lord Malfoy has cast a silencing ward around their group. “Someone will help you put your trunks below,” he says, and Harry wonders at how the man so easily presents the aura of someone in complete control.

_That’s what he needs to be._

Harry looks between the adults, resisting the sudden, foreign urge to _hug_ them.

He takes a subtle breath, bracing himself for saying goodbye to the first adults in his living memory who have cared for him. “Goodbye Aunt Cissa, Uncle Lucius. We’ll write as soon as we can.”

The slight widening of their eyes is the only indication Harry’s acceptance of their relation impacts them.

“We look forward to it,” Lady Malfoy smiles. She hands over Daisy and Harry’s trunk while Draco takes his own trunk from his father.

“Take care of yourselves,” Lord Malfoy says, giving them a serious look. “As well as eachother.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco says solemnly, and Harry’s struck with the realization that this is likely the first time the family before him has been separated for so long. If Harry feels a pit in his stomach at having to leave Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius after knowing them for a mere month, he can’t imagine what Draco’s feeling.

“We will,” Harry promises.

With a firm nod, Uncle Lucius dissolves the ward, leaving them vulnerable to the world around them.

“Off you go,” he says.

Harry takes the order as it is, getting a firmer grip on Daisy and looks for a way through the crowd. Behind him, Draco murmurs something to his parents then joins Harry, neither boy looking back to see if the Malfoys are watching them.

With much shoving and grumbling on Draco’s part, their trunks are stowed beneath the last train carriage by a man in uniform, and Harry follows Draco onboard.

“Ah, this will be perfect,” Draco says, taking note of the near-empty carriage. On either side of a wide aisle, couches and booths around tables reside under windows that show off the platform. “We’ll all be able to fit in here.”

“Do the others know to come here?” Harry questions, following Draco to the largest table in the back corner. The padded seats curve around the table, providing even more space.

“I told them. Whether or not they listen is another thing. I do expect others you haven’t met yet to join us; I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine.” He’ll have to be around all these other students for months on end anyway.

Harry lets Daisy out of her carrier, receiving a grateful chirp in response as she stretches, toes spreading adorably. The shrunken carrier—he knew magic was allowed on the train—was placed in his pack. Even though the only other occupants in the carriage are a boy and girl curled up in a booth near the front, Draco slings his pack on to the seat opposite him, silently warning anyone off from joining them.

Bemused by his friend, Harry pulls out _Edible Ingredients and Where to Harvest Them_ from his bag and begins to read, one hand messing with Daisy’s ears. Next to him, Draco watches the hordes on the platform, his fingers tapping on the tabletop being the only indication of his impatience. Fifteen till eleven, the carriage door opens, and Blaise enters followed by Daphne, Theo, Tracey, Pansy, Vince, Greg, Millicent, and a few other kids Harry doesn’t recognize.

“I see you claimed prime real estate,” Blaise teases Draco, tossing his pack to him so he can slide into the booth.

“Naturally,” Draco smirks, slinging the pack onto the overhead luggage rack. “Where’s Terrence?”

“He’s catching up with a few of his Second Year friends,” Daphne says, following Blaise onto the seats. She turns to Harry, answering a question he hadn’t been willing to voice. “He’s already twelve years old. His birthday is after the cut-off date, so he’s always been stuck between that age group and us.”

Harry gives her an appreciative ‘ah’ look, watching them all pile in. It seems a bit silly to him that he and Draco don’t just scooch to the middle so the others can fill in from the aisle. When he makes to move in however, Draco stops him with a subtle grip to the wrist. Harry realizes it’s a power move for Draco to stay seated where he is. Harry understands, even if he wants to laugh. It gives him easy access to the exit in any case, so he won’t complain.

Blaise sidled up next to Harry, bumping shoulders with him. “Long time no see, Harry.”

“Hiya, Blaise,” Harry greets back. A small sound brings his attention back to the three boys and one girl that have joined their booth. All four are looking at him with wide eyes and Harry braces himself for what is likely going to be a very painful few weeks as people get used to seeing the wizarding world’s savior.

One of the boys leans forward over the table, shaggy blonde hair falling into his brown eyes. “Harry? You wouldn’t happen to be _the_ Harry Potter?”

Draco takes it upon himself to complete introductions. “Zacharias, meet Heir Potter. Harry, this is Heir Smith. His family runs in the same society circles as ours.”

“Hello,” Harry greets, getting an unpleasant feeling from the boy’s judgmental look.

Smith huffs then shakes his head, grinning cockily at Draco. “You’re having me on, Draco.”

Harry immediately senses the mood at the table begin to shift. Draco lifts his chin, speaking down his nose at the boy. “I assure you, I am not.”

Smith casts a disbelieving look around at all the others as if waiting for one of them to say, ‘just kidding!’. When he doesn’t see any sign of deception, he scowls and jabs a finger at Harry. “No. No way is this skinny runt the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Don’t be an arse, Smith,” Theo snaps, not the only one at the table who’s sneering at Smith.

Smith blusters at the usually shy boy then at all the others present. “Oh, come off it, you lot! You can’t honestly expect me to believe this punk is Harry Potter. He couldn’t break a stick, let alone defeat the Dark Lord!”

Harry’s heard enough. “You’re more than welcome to sit elsewhere if you have a problem with my appearance, Heir Smith.”

His friends stare at him, shocked by his frigid tone. Harry pays them no mind, too busy staring down the arrogant boy in front of him. Jaw dropped obnoxiously, Smith finally seems to realize he’s making a fool of himself. He flops back in his seat, folding his arms and glaring at the table.

“Don't mind him,” the boy next to Smith says, holding out his hand and giving Harry an apologetic look that he refuses to accept considering the boy did nothing to stop what is likely a friend of his. “The name’s Ernest Macmillan. You can call me Ernie. My older sister is the family heir, so don’t worry about that posh rubbish.”

Harry returns the boy’s handshake, careful not to jostle Daisy too much. He does the same when Terry Boot and Fay Dunbar introduce themselves. Harry knows both are from pureblood families, but not ones with titles, so they easily offer him permission to call them by their first names. He’s beyond pleased when they swiftly get over their awe, treating him just as they do everyone else.

The next couple minutes pass by smoother, filled with idle chit chat and cooing when Harry’s friends spot Daisy in his lap. More students enter their carriage, all of them clearly years older than Harry’s group. While a few of the students, all looking to be purebloods or halfbloods based off their clothing, raise their brows at the sight the First Years make in the corner, no one approaches them.

That is, until a burly boy with a sour expression stomps up to their table as soon as he enters the carriage and spots them.

“Malfoy,” he growls. “What do you twerps think you’re doing?”

“Bole, a pleasure as always.”

The surly teen grunts. “This carriage is for upper year Slytherins only. You lot best get lost.”

“That’s odd, I didn’t spot any reservations signs on the table when we got here,” Blaise replies, stretching his arms out behind Harry and Daphne. “I find myself far too comfortable to move in any case.”

Bole glowers at him, not at all amused. “Zabini. Surprised to see you here in one piece. I heard the Black Widow’s latest victim isn’t too fond of annoying brats.”

Judging by Blaise’s smile that’s filled with too many teeth, Harry knows he’s missing something crucial. It hardly matters at the moment. “That’s enough. We will not be moving tables, and I warn you against trying to convince us otherwise. It will not go well for you.”

At this rate, he might as well spell a permanent target to his back.

“ _You’re_ warning _me_?” Bole laughs, incredulous, looking Harry up and down. “You’ve got some stones, kid. I’m guessing that’s the only thing keeping a strong wind from blowing you away.”

Why is everyone going after his size? He’s not _that_ small!

“Watch yourself, Bole,” Pansy warns, wand held in her hand for all to see. She’s not the only one armed. “You’re outmatched.”

“You think so, Parkinson?” Bole sneers, whipping out his wand and pointing it at them.

“Lucian!”

The voice cracks out across the carriage, grabbing everyone’s attention. A tall, muscular teen with a badge on his expensive robes approaches them, his own wand in hand.

“The train hasn’t left the platform and you’re already starting a fight? This must be a new record for you.”

Lucian Bole stands his ground, though Harry notices his wand disappearing back up his sleeve. “You’re assuming I started it, Marcus.”

“Didn’t you?” Marcus scoffs. He turns to their table, fierce eyes roving all of them, hovering on Harry longer than the others. He faces Bole once more. “Quit being a prat and leave the Firsties be. I saw Peregrine boarding not too long ago. Go sit with him.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Prefect,” Bole rolls his eyes, nevertheless moving back through the carriage. He sneers at the First Years once more for good measure before he’s gone.

Now that the spectacle’s over, the students in the other booths go back to their conversations, leaving Harry and his friends to stare up at the Prefect looming over them.

After a moment spent watching them right back, Marcus breaks the silence. “The other Prefects and I will be in a compartment up front for the first portion of the ride. Find us if you need anything. Don’t cause any trouble until I get back.”

He promptly walks away, saying something to another older girl before he’s out the door.

“That was Marcus Flint,” Draco says to the table, though Harry knows the information is mainly for his benefit. “Fifth year Prefect. The moron was Lucian Bole, fourth year and all-around arse.”

“You two will get alone great, Smith,” Pansy jokes, making everyone but Smith laugh.

“As if,” he scowls. “I’m not going to be seen anywhere near some upper year Slytherin. Especially that div.”

“Zacharias will likely be a Badger,” Blaise tells Harry, baring his teeth at the annoying boy. “The Smiths are the last traceable descendants of Helga Hufflepuff. ‘Course, we all know he’s only going there because no other House would accept him.”

Any intrigue Harry would have had at the prospect of meeting another Founder’s descendant is sullied by the boy’s overall unpleasantness. Then again, considering who Slytherin’s descendant turned out to be, maybe Smith isn’t too bad.

“There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff!” Ernie defends vehemently. Harry can take a guess at where Ernie’s going to be sorted.

“I didn’t say there was,” Blaise shrugs, appearing bored with the conversation now.

“I suppose you’re going into Ravenclaw, eh, Terry?” Draco asks the brown haired, blue eyed boy.

“I reckon there’s a good chance, yeah,” Terry shrugs, seeming content with the possibility. He looks to Fay and leans back so that he’s not blocking her off from the rest of the table as much. “You were thinking Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, right, Fay?”

The girl drops her hands from where they’d been threading through her chest-length, brown hair. “That’s what my parents think. I’m leaning more towards Gryffindor; they appreciate quidditch way more than Ravenclaws do.”

Terry holds up his hands in surrender at her teasing, pointed look. “Hey, I’m not going to deny it. If it wasn’t for House pride, I’d much rather get studying done than sit around for hours.”

Amused, Harry feels torn, agreeing and disagreeing wholeheartedly with Terry’s priorities. Fay rolls her eyes. “It’s a few hours every few _weeks_. You can put your books down long enough to watch. Merlin knows you lot won’t get outside otherwise.”

They banter back and forth, Draco, Ernie, and Smith jumping in with their own opinions. Harry sits and listens to them as well as the other conversations happening between the rest of his friends. Scratching Daisy’s belly, he monitors the older students in the carriage as well, still on edge after Bole’s displeasure. Nothing happens, however, and soon enough, the platform only contains adults and small children. Some of them appear to be having conversations with students sticking out the windows, but when the train gives a lurch, they step back and wave tearfully alongside everyone else.

Everyone, Harry included, turns to watch the spectacle, giddiness spreading like a plague throughout the train. The Hogwarts Express groans out of the station, puffing steam into the sky as its own farewell.

 _Here we go_.

***

The countryside is beautiful, Harry thinks. Too bad nobody’s noticing.

“Quit helping Vince cheat, Greg!”

“I’m not!”

“You are, we can hear you whispering!”

“It’s not like it’s helping anyway.”

“That’s what you get for cheating, Vince,” Daphne retorts, focusing on the Exploding Snap cards before her. She taps one and grins wickedly when it’s the one she needs. “Your turn, Milli.”

Millicent is successful in matching her cards quickly, as well. Ernie, however, does not, and his target pair combusts, making him groan while the other players laugh.

“Do you want to play next, Harry?” Theo asks, watching Fay as she takes her turn.

“No thank you,” Harry responds, attention on Daisy who’s lying on his open book on the tabletop, doing her best to eat his fingers.

He’s also steadfastly ignoring the fact that Forest hasn’t shown scale nor tail yet. Neither has Artemis, so Harry assumes they’re fine coiled around Draco as the boy relaxes and observes everything.

It doesn’t bother Harry, _it doesn’t_.

“Suit yourself,” Smith says in response to Harry, ignoring Theo’s annoyed look.

Around one o’clock, Harry’s stomach growls and he somewhat self-consciously retrieves his packed lunch, relieved when others do the same with their own meals.

They finish eating and switch to playing Gobstones. Harry continues to read, only looking up when the carriage door opens. A girl enters first and Harry’s nose scrunches when he recognizes who it is. Having seen Harry’s face, Draco turns to the door as well, huffing when he sees the also familiar boy behind Hermione Granger.

“Longbottom looks to be in a right state,” he comments, eyes glinting when the two First Years are ignored by the upper years. His expression smooths out, as does everyone else’s, when Granger spots their table and makes her way over.

“Have any of you spotted a toad in here? Neville’s toad, Trevor, ran away,” she says, not bothering with any manners.

Harry closely examines Neville now that he has the chance. His hunched posture, averted gaze, and worrying hands send surges of protectiveness down Harry’s spine. He speaks up before any of the others can; just in case they say something that will make Neville curl in on himself even more.

“There’s no toad in this carriage,” he tells them. “Why don’t you ask a Prefect for help looking?”

Granger crosses her arms, speaking in that grating, bossy voice of hers. “We can’t, the Prefects are—”

“Right here,” Flint says, having returned to the carriage and approached them without Granger or Neville noticing. Hermione squeaks and whirls around, Neville similarly jumping and stumbling back, eyes wide and fearful. Flint looks between them. “Is there a problem?”

Granger regains her footing quickly. “Neville’s lost his toad.”

Flint turns his attention to a shaking Neville. “Heir Longbottom. Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater are the current Prefects on patrol. Go find one of them and ask them to summon the toad to you. Ask for a sticking charm as well if you don’t think yourself capable of watching a measly toad.”

Neville ducks his head, face flaming with embarrassment. Harry doesn’t like it.

He watches Granger drag Neville out of the carriage, leaving a few snickering Slytherins behind. Flint gives their table a glance, assessing their status. “Anyone given you trouble?”

At their headshakes in denial, Flint grunts and goes to join his classmates in another booth.

“Professor Snape chose well making Flint a Prefect this year,” Tracey comments.

Harry and the others show their agreement, going back to their books and games.

Soon after the sprawling fields of manicured grass bleeds into wild, forested land, a plump woman enters the carriage, pushing a cart piled high with food packets.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” she asks the first booth by the door, kind smile on her face.

“Finally,” Vince grumbles, struggling to retrieve something from his pocket. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry,” Terry laughs, proceeding to follow Vince’s example. Lunch was hours ago; they’re all ready for sweets. Money pouches nearby, they wait somewhat impatiently for the woman to complete her transactions with the upper years in the carriage.

When she reaches their table, organized chaos ensues as each of them orders one by one, the others muttering comments about the buyer’s choices and debating what to get for themselves when their turn comes.

Having only tried Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans over the summer with Draco, Harry buys one of everything. He ends up trading his Merlin Chocolate Frog card for Fay’s Morgana and joins the others in a game of Blind Bean using Draco’s purchased pack. He lucks out, ending up eating pepper, coffee, and strawberry flavored beans; laughing along with the everyone else when Terry gags on a bean he says tasted like worm. Harry’s Sugar Quill goes uneaten, sacrificed for the table’s efforts of distracting a playful Daisy.

The emerging sunset tinges the carriage orange, their impending arrival looming on the horizon. They relax, satiated and spent. The upper years send them fewer exasperated looks, resulting in a mellow atmosphere fills the carriage.

It shatters when a wholly unwelcome presence slides the door open with a bang.

All heads turn to face the pink-cheeked, red head dressed in a lumpy sweater. Harry and Draco easily recognize him.

“What are you doing in here, Weasley?” Draco calls out, snide tone somehow aloof.

Ronald sneers at Draco, stomping towards them. “Shove off, you pasty ferret, I’m looking for someone.”

Harry tenses. Next to him, Draco raises an unimpressed brow. “You entered _our_ carriage, Weaselbee. If anybody’s leaving, it’s you. So… _scram_.”

Ronald’s face flushes further, reminding Harry of the impossible amount of freckles dotting his face. “There’s supposed to be someone on the train. He wasn’t in any of the other compartments, which means he must be in here.”

“Great detective work there, Weasley,” Blaise snorts. “In case it escaped your notice, _hundreds_ of people are supposed to be on this train. Care to be more specific as to whom you’re looking for?”

Ronald’s fists clench when he turns his snarl on Blaise. “Piss off, you prat! I don’t need to listen to you lot; it’s not like Harry Potter’s sitting with a bunch of slimy Slytherins anyway.”

Hearing his name, Harry catches himself just in time to avoid revealing himself, infinitely grateful when no one else so much as blinks at Ron’s admittance.

“You’re right,” Ernie says, resting his head on his propped hand. “You probably missed him in one of the other compartments.”

“Whatever,” Ronald says, gangly limbs making his retreat from the carriage awkward.

“He’s going to be a delight,” Daphne sighs when conversation picks up once more around the carriage.

Harry brings Daisy up to his chest, hiding his bewilderment and mortification behind her purring body. He really, _really_ hopes he doesn’t end up trapped in the same dorm as Ronald for the next seven years.

“I’m going to ask his brothers what he’s scared of,” Theo says, rubbing agitated fingers on the table. “He needs to be put in his place.”

Harry thinks that’s a brilliant idea; the others do too, going by their smirks.

Millicent tilts her head. “You’ll owe them a boon, you know,” she says, referring to what Harry had learned was a part of Slytherin's bartering-based system of gathering favors.

“It’ll be worth it,” he mutters.

None but Harry miss how Theo’s soft blue eyes flicker towards him for a scant second before he goes back to scratching at the wood.

***

It’s dark out when Flint tells them all to put their school robes on. They take turns going to the closest loo to change (Harry is thankful Draco previously showed him how to tie a tie; he won’t be showing up to school looking like a fool).

Terrence joins them soon after they’re all dressed. He buries an apology for his absence by filling them in on pertinent first-days-of-school-related information he had gleaned from his Second Year friends.

Harry listens and stores the advice about which staircases to avoid and how best to ward off the resident poltergeist, Peeves; all the while convincing Daisy to go back in her carrier. He is successful in the end, having cheated a bit by placing her dinner and a couple treats inside.

Even with their stoic demeanors sliding into place, Harry can sense how excited his classmates are when the train begins to slow. They all watch the Hogsmeade Station draw near. It must have rained here earlier in the evening; the lanterns and stone platform are still damp.

“Drop off all your luggage and pets outside in the designated area,” Flint calls across the carriage over the rising bustle as everyone gathers their belongings.

When they grind to a stop, Harry stands; falling in with the others to exit the carriage and step out on the platform. Shivering slightly from the chilly autumn evening, they follow the older students’ lead and set their packs down in a dry, covered portion of the platform that’s watched over by a man with a gnarly face and heavy, worn overcoat.

Hearing and seeing other cats meowing in their carriers does nothing to stymie Harry’s guilt at leaving Daisy out here for who knows how long. He whispers more apologies in response to her confused meowing, casting several wandless warming charms on the carrier before he’s forced to leave her and make room for the other swarms of students trying to do the same.

“FIRS’ YEARS! THIS WAY, FIRS’ YEARS!”

Harry cringes at the bellowing that rolls over their heads. Hagrid, standing meters taller than most of the kids gathering around him, is waving his lantern above his head like a beacon.

A small hiss draws his attention to Draco who runs a hand over the bumps under his robes, the action casual. He sees Harry trying to stay out of sight from Hagrid and sneers at the giant.

“I see you and Father weren’t exaggerating,” he says to Harry, walking towards Hagrid when their friends finish dropping off their belongings.

Harry hums, watching older students veer off down Hogsmeade Village’s main road. That must be where the carriages are.

“Any more firs’ years?” Hagrid shouts, scanning the nearly empty platform. Harry shrinks behind his friends, having no desire to let the man recognize and single him out. Satisfied by the group gathered before him, Hagrid turns and starts down a narrow, slick stone path with very little lighting. “All righ’, follow me!”

Thick foliage on either side of the path swallows up the nervous giggling and whispers produced by the First Years. Gasps suddenly ring out when the group rounds a corner and gets their first view of their school. The Hogwarts castle glows from its place atop a mountain; a lake stretching between them and the castle provides a shimmering reflection of the magnificent sight.

Hagrid’s shouting brings their attention to the rowboats docked on the piers branching off the beach. “Only four to a boat! Make sure you don’ rock ‘em!”

Trading dubious looks, Harry’s group splits up. Draco, Blaise, and Fay join him in one boat far away from Hagrid’s. Ripples race across the black water; tempting Harry to dip his fingers beneath the surface.

“Everyone in a boat?” Hagrid yells. A few kids give quiet confirmations and Hagrid lifts his pink umbrella. “Hold tight, then!”

His umbrella raps the side of his boat, proving to be a signal, for all the boats lurch forward as one, gliding across the lake. Their journey is quiet. Like everyone else. Harry stares at the castle they’re sailing towards, imagining what all he’s going to discover within its walls.

His gaze falls to Draco’s chest.

 _This wasn’t how it was supposed to be_.

In those days spent in the cupboard after receiving his Hogwarts letter yet hearing no reply to his acceptance, Harry had withered away, drained of blood and hope. The whole time, the only thing that kept him sane was Forest.

Forest who first told him of magic.

Forest, his first friend.

They worked so hard to get to this moment, to see this view for the first time, and _Forest is missing it_.

Harry’s gaze drops to his boots.

The moment doesn’t feel very magical anymore.

***

A stern looking woman in shimmering green robes lets them into the entrance hall. It isn’t as large as Malfoy Manor’s, its splendor instead stemming from a caved ceiling and curved marble staircase leading to the upper floors. There’s a steady din of voices emanating from the double doors; the sound echoing around the stone walls. Lit sconces cast flickering light over the First Years’ overwhelmed faces.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the woman says, demanding their full attention. “I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, professor of transfiguration, and Head of House for Gryffindor.”

She goes on to explain basic rules of Hogwarts and what they can expect for the rest of the evening, but Harry feels like he’s been struck. _She_ is his _godmother?!_ The woman looks like she could tear Uncle Vernon apart with a simple tongue lashing! How could she… she would never… he—!

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall orders them, bringing Harry out of his spiraling despair.

Draco notices how sluggish he’s moving and grabs his sleeve, pulling him so he stands behind some girl with a butterfly barrette holding her waist-length hair back.

“What’s the matter?” Draco whispers in his ear, chest nearly pressed to Harry’s back.

Harry shakes his head, trying to make himself focus. “Nothing,” he whispers back. “Thanks.”

Satisfied by their organization, Professor McGonagall orders them all to follow her, leading the way through the shut double doors. They groan open, revealing an indiscernible mass of young faces. The older peers eye the First Years as they walk down the aisle between two of the four tables stretching from one end of the Great Hall to the other. Harry vaguely takes note of the students’ ties and connects the colors to the four Houses: Gryffindor on the far left followed by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and then Slytherin against the right wall.

The Hall’s lighting wavers over the gold plates and goblets set on the tables, and Harry looks up to find thousands of candles floating far above their heads. They wobble and bob, layering over one another all the way up to the ceiling that doesn’t look like a ceiling at all, but the night sky they just sought cover from.

He looks forward once more when he senses the girl in front of him slowing down. They’re ordered to spread out, standing between the four House tables and the stone steps that level off three times, creating a tiered effect for the two rows of adults sitting at their own tables. Harry’s not surprised by the number of professors watching them; Riddle’s diary and the other books Harry had read detailed all the classes and positions Hogwarts needed filled.

What does surprise him, however, is how Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, is sitting on a bloody _throne_. Compared to the other professors’ rigid wood seats, Dumbledore’s is a purple-cushioned, gold-engraved armchair with a high back that sharpens to a point, bracketed by two spires.

It’s so ridiculous and, paired with the man’s excessive burgundy robes, Harry can’t take it.

He _seethes_.

Tearing his gaze away from the coot, Harry eyes the Sorting Hat on the stool Professor McGonagall now stands next to. It looks a bit mangy and Harry wonders if it’s ever been cleaned after years of being placed on kids’ heads.

He watches as one of the hat’s rumpled creases opens wider and wider, becoming a mouth that bursts out in a song detailing the qualities each House portrays the most. At the end of it, Harry ignores the upper years’ and professors’ clapping, opting to glance at Draco. His friend looks wholly unimpressed by all the pomp, dragging a quiet snort from Harry.

When the cheering dies down and the hat becomes docile once more, Professor McGonagall lifts it up, unfurling a parchment she holds in her other hand.

“When I call your name, you will step forth and be sorted,” she tells them. “Abbott, Hannah.”

Harry tracks the girl’s movements through the crowd of First Years, wondering if she and Susan are questioning where ‘Henry’ is. Hannah is sorted into Hufflepuff, as she had anticipated; and Susan immediately follows, giggling with her friend when they sit together surrounded by cheering Badgers.

Terry is next and confidently walks to the clapping Ravenclaw table when the hat’s lifted off his head. Mandy Brocklehurst follows him to Ravenclaw. Lavender Brown goes to Gryffindor and Harry thinks they go a bit over the top with their cheers.

The Slytherin table along with Harry and his friends clap in moderation when Millicent is sorted there. Michael Corner and Stephen Cornfoot go to Ravenclaw before Vince and Tracey are sorted to Slytherin.

Fay goes to Gryffindor, looking right at home. Kevin Entwhistle becomes a Hufflepuff, Seamus Finnigan a Gryffindor, Justin Finch-Fletchley another Hufflepuff, Anthony Goldstein a Ravenclaw, then Greg is sorted into Slytherin and Granger into Gryffindor.

Granger practically runs to the Gryffindor table after she’s sorted. Daphne is far more dignified when she glides over to the Slytherins. Terrence goes to Slytherin, Wayne Hopkins and Megan Jones become Hufflepuffs, then it’s Sue Li in Ravenclaw before Neville is called up next.

The boy is obviously a nervous wreck, looking on the verge of crying when the hat lowers down below his eyes. His sorting takes longer than any other so far, but the result is worth it. Barely remembering to wait for Professor McGonagall to remove the hat, a shaken Neville scurries towards the Hufflepuff where his housemates welcome him with pats on the back.

Harry is pleased by the sight. For some reason, it’s important to him knowing that Neville will be taken care of in the den of Badgers.

Morag MacDougal joins the Ravens, Ernie heading to Hufflepuff shortly after, and then it’s Draco's turn.

“That galleon is mine,” he murmurs to Harry who in turn smirks, remembering the bet Draco has with his father. And he’s right. The hat is still high above Draco’s head when it hollers, “SLYTHERIN!”, making Draco’s the quickest sorting of the night, something Draco looks obscenely smug about as he goes to join their friends among the Snakes.

Harry can’t resist peeking up at the Head Table, looking for a familiar, surly face. He finds him easily; Professor Snape is clapping soundly for his godson. For Draco.

Harry regrets looking.

Roger Malone becomes a Griffin and Lily Moon joins the Hufflepuffs, proceeded by Theo and Pansy adding to the Slytherins. The girl with the butterfly barrette, Padma Patil, is sorted into Ravenclaw. Her twin, Parvati, is placed in Gryffindor right after, joined by Sally-Anne Perks.

Bracing himself, Harry keeps his cool when Professor McGonagall calls out, “Potter, Harry,” next. The Hall immediately fills with gasps and whispers, bodies shuffling and stretching to try and catch a glimpse of _The Harry Potter._ Wishing more than ever he had Forest with him, Harry ignores the excited First Years surrounding him. He straightens his back and lifts his chin, moving towards the Sorting Hat with a plain expression donning his face. Dumbledore is right in his line of sight as he walks up the steps. Harry avoids the man’s gaze with fierce determination.

He sits on the stool with all the grace he can muster, Draco’s thumbs up being the last thing he sees before the hat blinds and deafens him to the Hall’s curious onlookers.

“Harry Potter,” a voice rumbles, buzzing across his mind. “It’s about time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe.
> 
> Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, place your bets! Where is Harry going to be sorted?  
> Will Forest and Harry ever make up? And how about a Hufflepuff Neville, eh?
> 
> I'll see you all in the comments; I love hearing anything and everything you have to say!


	9. Where He Belongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry faces the Sorting Hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the cliffhanger was worth it!

“Hello,” is all Harry manages to say. Well, not _say_. He _thinks_ it because the Sorting Hat, named Alistair by the Founders upon being gifted sentience, is listening to his every thought.

Alistair laughs, the sound shaking Harry’s spine. “Someone has done his research.”

“I wanted to be prepared,” Harry defends.

“So I see… And prepare you did. Mmmm yes… A solid mind you have here, young Potter. Plenty of smarts. You’ve learned all you could before now, wanting no surprises tonight… Such tenacity! A hard worker with immense bravery… Quite clever too, yes, you’ve had to be…”

Harry resists fidgeting. Despite knowing what to expect from the Sorting, he loathes someone having full access to his memories.

“ _And_ access your future,” Alistair adds, having been listening to Harry’s internal monologue. “It’s neither clear nor set in stone, certainly not. But I see how Magic intertwines us all. I know who will help you on the paths to greatness, to comfort…to your demise… What say you, Heir Potter? What is it you want?”

“I don’t want anyone to control me ever again,” Harry thinks immediately, desperately.

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Alistair drawls, a note of satisfaction piquing Harry’s curiosity before he startles when the Hat barks an uncharacteristic laugh. “The similarities… Oh yes. Yes, you are well worth the wait, Heir Potter. Now where to put you?”

Harry clings to the Hat’s mysterious words, holding on to them for further examination when he’s alone. He braces himself, ready to hear his fate. “I trust your judgement.”

Alistair’s chuckle rumbles over his mind. “You will take the world by storm, Heir Potter. Very well. It is quite clear to me that the best place for you is SLYTHERIN!!!”

Unknown to Harry, the Hat’s proclamation sends the Hall into complete silence save for a choking “ _What!?_ ” escaping Ronald Weasley. So shocked is she by Harry’s sorting that Professor McGonagall does not remove the Hat right away, allowing Alistair to give Harry a proper farewell.

“We will be meeting again, Heir Potter,” the Hat says knowingly. “While it may not be in pleasant company, I do so look forward to it.”

Harry flounders when the Hat is roughly pulled off his head, making his hair crackle.

“Go take your seat, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall says.

Harry isn’t oblivious to the displeased set to her eyes and mouth. Subconsciously, he leans away from her even as he clambers off the stool. Great. So much for making a good first impression with his godmother.

He’d been ignorant of it at first, but now he can hear the polite clapping emanating from the sea of green and silver-clad students as silence reigns through the rest of the Hall. He walks over to his new House, keeping his back straight and chin up, bolstered when he sees his friends’ pleased expressions. He sidles into the seat next to Draco, realizing the others had left the space clear. They’d saved it for him, expected him to be one of them. To belong.

His chest flutters and he smiles weakly when they send him congratulatory murmurs or winks. He takes note of Oliver Rivers being placed in Gryffindor as the sorting continues. Having his back to the rest of the Hall does not detract from the uncomfortable awareness that very few students are paying attention to Sophie Roper following Rivers to Gryffindor. No, the majority of them are instead staring at Harry or whispering to their friends.

“Ignore them,” Draco murmurs, shifting so that his warm side presses against Harry’s.

Harry gives a minute nod in return. It helps that the older Slytherins appear calm and collected despite having the Boy-Who-Lived sitting among their ranks. To his credit, Harry knows they’re not as unperturbed as they’d like others to think. He can see the subtle looks he’s getting; his magic prickles, feeling their confused attention and, in some cases, disgust.

Emma Runcorn becomes a Badger and Harry takes the time during Sally Smith’s sorting to reexamine the Head Table. As if magnetized, his gaze is drawn to obsidian eyes, only to flinch when he sees his godfather’s face is full of _loathing_.

In that moment, his heart thumping pathetically, it becomes abundantly clear to him that Severus Snape hates him.

Harry blinks, refusing to let the burning behind his eyes become tears. He swallows back the emotions that threaten to choke him. He doesn’t understand the man’s strong reaction, but really, what else did Harry expect? _Of course_ his godfather hates him. He and Professor McGonagall. They never wanted him, that’s obvious now. He’s a disappointment. He ferociously slashes through the shred of hope he’d held so dearly: that his godfather would be pleased to have Harry in his House. He was naïve to assume as much.

Harry turns, staring at the plates between him and Daphne. He barely registers Sally Smith going to Ravenclaw, Smith to Hufflepuff as expected, Dean Thomas to Gryffindor, Lisa Turpin to the Ravens, and Ronald Weasley to the Griffins. He surfaces from his thoughts when Blaise’s name is called, the Hat placing him in Slytherin after a minute resting on his immaculate curls. Clapping along with the others, Harry straightens when Blaise sits next to him, filling in the last seat among the Slytherin First Years.

With the Sorting over, Harry forces himself to listen as Dumbledore stands to greet everyone. He does not, however, turn to look.

“Good evening!” The Headmaster calls out, pale blue eyes shining. “To our new students, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! To those of you returning, welcome back!”

Harry frowns at his goblet, entirely unimpressed.

Dumbledore continues, voice finding an annoying balance between gentle and imperious. “Before we feed our bellies and minds, there are a few necessary announcements to be made. We are pleased to be reunited with our esteemed former Muggle Studies instructor, Professor Quirrell. He has returned from his sabbatical and has been kind enough to take on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for us this year. We wish you the best, Professor!”

The silver-haired wizard leads the meager applause that stirs Harry into looking towards the Head Table. A nervous looking man next to Professor Snape waves a floppy hand in recognition of the clapping, his head seeming to sag under the weight of the purple turban wrapped around his presumably bald head. Harry feels his magic spike and tug in interest. He quickly turns away. Almost making eye contact with his godfather again probably made his magic yearn to search the man for something Harry knows isn’t there. His magic retreats soon after and Harry forgets about it.

The Headmaster goes on, unbothered by how quickly the applause peters off. “Secondly, the Forbidden Forest in its entirety is off limits to any student who does not wish to die a most painful death.”

Under his fringe, Harry trades a dubious look with Draco, both questioning the sanity behind having such dangers dwell on the grounds of a _school_ filled with underdeveloped _children_.

“Finally, as your first and only warning, all students are prohibited from entering the right wing of the third-floor corridor.”

A quiet murmur runs through the students at that statement, Harry hearing an indignant Ravenclaw say, “He didn’t tell us Prefects anything about that…”

Dumbledore doesn’t wait for the chatter to die off before he brings everyone back to attention with a grand sweep of his arms. “With that, it is finally time to jump into our feast! Enjoy!”

To Harry’s astonishment, masses of plates and bowls piled high with hearty foods bloom into existence on the tables. Roasts, baked birds, buttered rolls, salted fries, sautéed vegetables, assortments of pies, and various side dishes are accompanied by several pitchers of juice and water. The cheer that rises up among the other tables reflects Harry’s own elevated wonder. Grateful for the month of subtle practice in the art of table manners, Harry waits for the others to serve themselves before he scoops up some vegetables and a chicken breast with a few fries. Greg passes him the apple juice when asked, and Harry tucks into his meal, eating in small bites.

Beside him, Draco seems to be forcing himself to eat his chosen leg of lamb. Harry refrains from snorting at Draco’s cultured taste buds, even if he does think that the Malfoy house-elves are top-shelf chefs. He wonders if the house-elves working away in the kitchens beneath the Hall will let him visit from time to time.

Daphne’s low voice draws Harry’s attention. “Dumbledore did not seem very pleased with your sorting, Harry, did you notice?”

He had not. So caught up in his thoughts and effort to get to his seat that he did not examine Dumbledore’s reaction. That was foolish of him. He needs to stay aware, especially when it comes to _him_.

“I didn’t,” he murmurs, swallowing before speaking.

“McGonagall too,” Blaise adds, cutting his slice of duck. “You would have thought someone had killed her cat with the face she made.”

The reminder makes Harry’s stomach sink. He takes a sip of his water to buy himself time. “They probably expected me to be like my parents.”

“Typical Gryffindors,” Pansy scoffs.

“The professors weren’t the only ones surprised,” Theo notes.

“That Weasley boy turned redder than his hair,” Tracey grins before abruptly staring everyone but Harry down with narrowed eyes. “Harry is not to be left alone in the corridors.”

Amused by how all his friends are admitting to eavesdropping, Harry is only mildly annoyed by their protectiveness. He’s defended himself his whole life; he doesn’t need others to fight his battles for him, thank you very much.

“That’s not necessary, Tracey,” he replies, voice low but plenty grateful.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Terrence cuts in, wiping his mouth. “Besides, Slytherins protect their own no matter what. No Slytherin is to wander alone. That’s been a House rule for years.”

“Why?” Harry frowns.

Terrence side-eyes him. His gaze flickers at their surroundings for a moment before he leans forward and whispers, “It’s just safer that way.”

That doesn’t appease Harry in the least. Safer? Painful deaths outside and dangers in the halls- what kind of school is this?

Dumbledore’s school, that’s what, he scowls to himself. He glances towards Draco’s torso for a split-second, mood drowning when he remembers his loss all over again.

Here he is, in the House of Snakes, and yet, the one snake he cares about the most thinks he’s—

No. He won’t focus on that right now. He won’t make it through the night if he does.

“Fay looked happy going to Gryffindor,” he says, hoping to distract himself and the others.

“Entirely too pleased with herself,” Draco scoffs. Harry, however, notices his friend’s tone is off. For the first time since the meal started, he studies Draco’s face, noticing the troubled expression gracing it.

Harry leans closer to him and speaks under his breath. “You alright, Draco?”

Draco’s eyes uncloud for a moment, the line between his brows remaining. “Yes.”

Harry’s stomach squirms at what he can tell is a lie. “Okay,” he says, turning back to his plate in time to watch all the dinner food disappear and be replaced by tooth-rotting sweets. Harry scrunches his nose at the chocolate-oozing cakes, jelly-filled rolls, tarts, and cream-topped pies, choosing to sample the bowl of fruit close by. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have a huge sweet tooth thanks to a childhood without sweets, but especially after their indulging on the train, he’d rather have something healthier.

A nasty voice makes him falter before he can take his first bite of strawberry.

“What’s the matter, Golden Boy, food not good enough for your standards?”

Harry glares at the boy sneering at him from two seats on the other side of Terrence. Harry assumes he’s a Second Year, though his unfortunately large girth makes him appear older and more intimidating than he might be.

“Come off it, Bletchley,” Pansy snaps. Around her, the other First Years bristle at the mean-faced boy’s attitude.

“Oh, don’t get knickers in a twist, Parkinson,” Bletchley says, rolling his eyes before looking Harry over derisively. “Potter looks like he could do with some fattening up.”

“And you look like you could do with less,” Harry quips, expression blank save for a cocked brow. Internally, however, he’s howling at the world because, for _Merlin’s sake! He’s not that small!!_

While the others chortle around Harry, Bletchley’s expression becomes feral, displaying flecks of food in his teeth. Across from him, a girl hidden from Harry’s view scolds Bletchley before he can retort. “Honestly, Miles, show some decorum. None of us want to see your half-eaten food.”

“Yes, please,” Daphne sniffs primly, dismissing Bletchley’s unsavory appearance. “I’d hate to lose my appetite before I get to enjoy this raspberry tart.”

“Don’t be such a princess, Greengrass,” Bletchley jabs, though he noticeably keeps his teeth well hidden behind his thin lips. A faint pink tint to his cheeks belays his sneer.

“There’s no need to be a prat, Miles,” Terrence says, looking like he wants to throw the sticky toffee pudding in front of him at Miles’s face.

“I—”

Harry’s head turns sharply when Bletchley gasps, roughly cutting himself off with the shock of seeing a man’s head suddenly sticking out of his plate.

Harry stares, realizing he’s seeing a ghost for the first time.

“Quarreling so soon?” The ghost says in a bored voice so deep and unaffected that Harry grits his teeth because the sound is anything but natural. The apparition turns hauntingly slow, taking in all the students with blank eyes. “And Slytherins no less… That won’t do…”

He rises, the rest of his body emerging from the table and giving them all a view of the thick chains that dangle from his cuffed wrists. What Harry initially took to be shadows on the man’s frilly robes gains a flicker of crimson in the candlelight and Harry immediately knows who this is.

Draco is just as quick on the uptake. “Your Lordship,” he says, giving the Bloody Baron a regal nod. “Good evening.”

Dull eyes graze over Draco. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see their friends trade glances.

“You, boy,” the Baron drawls. “There have been others just like you in my House.”

Draco straightens. “The Malfoy family has attended Hogwarts for generations. Each one of them a Slytherin.”

“Hmmmm,” the Baron hums, the sound vibrating his chains and making them rattle.

When the Baron’s eyes drag to Harry, he feels like he’s going to rattle apart as well. “Now you… You are unfamiliar.”

“This is Heir Potter, Your Lordship,” Draco introduces, tilting his body to make Harry more visible. “Harry is the first Potter to be sorted into Slytherin.”

A spark of life appears in the dead man’s eyes. He floats slightly closer to Harry, unnerving everyone in the immediate vicinity when the temperature drops a few degrees. “Ahhhh. I see it now,” the ghost whispers gravelly. “I had perceived the whispers to be nothing more than tall-tales, but now… Yes, you are quite alike, aren’t you?”

Draco fidgets, one hand coming up to clasp his own shoulder, a notion that would appear odd if Draco did not pass it off as tidying his immaculate robes. Harry pays his friend little mind, staring at the Baron with a blank expression that shows none of his inner confusion and rising annoyance at all the mystery coming forth recently. First Salazar’s comments, then the Hat, and now a ghost, exactly _what_ about him is being spread around for beings to be responding this way? Is it just because he’s the Boy-Who-Lived?

Somehow, that doesn’t feel exactly right.

A shocked cry distracts him. He and the others look over to the Gryffindor table where Ronald Weasley is staring aghast at another ghost floating over the table. The man’s severed head is likely the reason for Weasley and the other First Years’ disgusted expressions.

Harry wants to laugh, remembering reading passages of the eccentric Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, better known as Nearly Headless Nick. Instead, he watches Neville stare gobsmacked as a portly ghost, the Fat Friar, coasts over the Hufflepuff table. Harry doesn’t wonder why the Grey Lady isn’t haunting the Ravenclaw table; he knows she usually keeps to herself in the quieter parts of the castle.

Facing forward once more, Harry realizes that the Baron is still present, now floating behind Daphne and watching Harry with an intense gaze. “The walls have ears, Heir Potter,” he says in a dull tone that makes the hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickle. “Do mind yourself.”

With that, he floats down the table, making several Slytherins shiver when he passes them. Harry exhales a measured breath, taking a moment to collect himself before he looks at his friends. When he does, they all look to be deep in thought. None of them move until Blaise speaks up and breaks the silence.

“Who would have thought?” he teases. “The Boy-Who-Lived is famous even among the Dead.”

Harry groans quietly, on the verge of burying his face in his hands. Around him, the others laugh lightly before taking the last bites of their desserts. Not long after, the food disappears from the tables.

Dumbledore stands and the Hall grows quiet. “Now that we’re all fed and watered, it’s time to depart to our Common Rooms for a good night’s rest. But first! Our very own choir group, led by Professor Flitwick will send us off with the Hogwarts song!”

Dumbledore steps aside as a diminutive man appears from around the Head Table and Harry vaguely remembers seeing him sitting next to Hagrid during the meal. A handful of students from the other tables stand up and assemble on the steps before everyone, arranging themselves in a practiced manner.

Before they begin, Professor Flitwick says, “Please join us if you’d like!” before raising his wand and waving his arms in a pattern. Harry watches, mildly bewildered as the choir starts to sing.

He nearly barks a laugh when he recalls a bladdered Hagrid singing the very lines Harry’s hearing now. He watches as all Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs Second Year and up sing along proudly, whereas only a smattering of Ravenclaws join in. From what his ears and eyes can detect, no Slytherins sing along. He himself has absolutely no desire to sing either. He doesn’t think he’s _ever_ sung, not even under his breath to himself while doing chores or when stuck in his cupboard. The Dursleys weren’t much for playing music around the house and the idea that Harry would feel spirited enough to come up with his own melody is unimaginable.

So he listens, feeling a bit out of sorts as the choir finishes with their wonky lyrics and Dumbledore leads a vivacious applause afterwards while the singers bow and walk back to their tables.

“Music!” Dumbledore cries out. “Perhaps the greatest magic of all! Now then, off to bed you trot! Your education awaits!”

Swallowing back his distaste for the Headmaster’s voice and eccentricities, Harry stands with the rest of the First Years, following Marcus Flint and another girl with a badge who comes to round them up. Ignoring the pointing and gossiping students from other Houses direct his way, Harry allows himself to be swallowed up by his friend group, guided down the corridors with them on all sides, older Slytherins walking ahead or trailing behind.

The air becomes cooler and a draft picks up the further into the dungeons the Slytherins venture. They take twists and turns, footsteps and low voices bouncing off their stone surroundings. He’s a bit worried he’ll become lost within the labyrinth over the next few days and immediately concentrates on creating a mental map for himself. He also notices a lack of paintings on the walls and thinks back to the Baron’s ominous words, wondering if the paintings in the castle gossip or report to someone Harry really doesn’t want them reporting to. It occurs to him that he’s been sorted into the one House that values privacy just as much as he does.

It is a reassurance he greatly needs.

Their procession slows and the First Years are guided forward to observe what looks to be a normal stretch of wall. However, when they look closer, they spot a snake carved into the wall that’s hardly visible even with a nearby sconce casting a glow on the stones.

“The House guardian is only visible to Slytherins,” Marcus Flint explains to them. “You will need to say the password, which changes weekly. Right now, it’s ‘fern’.”

Upon hearing the password, the snake carving glows a bright green and an outline of a door appears in the previously unblemished wall. The new door opens on silent hinges despite its weight and Harry marvels for a moment before reminding himself that— _duh_ —magic.

A handful of students that positively tower over Harry, likely Sixth or Seventh Years, pass through first, maneuvering through the Common Room with familiarity. Harry and the other First Years meander after the Fifth Year Prefects, only their eyes revealing how much they delight in their new surroundings.

The Common Room itself is about the same size as the Main Hall at Malfoy Manor, but the similarity stops there. The only windows present stretch along the top half of one wall, revealing darkness beyond them that Harry knows to be the depths of the Black Lake. Two roaring fireplaces on either side of the room play host to very comfortable looking couches, loveseats, and chairs around low tables that look ripe for playing hours of chess, Gobstones, or Exploding Snap on. Above one fireplace, two black and green snakes twine around each other in a detailed painting. A collected-looking woman sitting at a bureau watches all the Slytherins file into the room from her spot above the other mantle.

Bookshelves erupt from the ends of communal tables and desks illuminated by gaslight lamps. Even more seating is situated past this study-designated area, just beyond what Harry thinks might be the two corridors to the dormitories. The room’s coloring reminds him of his friends’ manors except with a more worn and homely aesthetic to it. The air feels and smells like his garden does after it rains. Something about that soothes Harry a little further.

“Have a seat,” the female Prefect says, gesturing towards the furniture below the snake portrait. Harry finds himself between Daphne and Draco on one of the loveseats, watching the older Slytherins talk among themselves. None of them leave the room however, so Harry reckons they’re waiting for something.

Harry hears a hiss and his heart leaps for a moment, thinking it’s Forest or atleast Artemis. It turns out to be neither.

**More hatchlingsss.**

**Alwaysss so many around.**

**But none to ssspeak to.**

Harry tracks the voices up, berating himself for not assuming it was the snakes in the painting in the first place. After hearing their melancholy musings, Harry vows to come visit them sometime when other Slytherins aren’t around. Maybe that way all three of them will feel less lonely.

Flint comes around and joins the other Prefect in standing before the fire where the First Years can see them. “I’m Marcus Flint,” he starts, the reminder unnecessary as they all spoke to him on the train. Perhaps he’s just following protocol. “This is my fellow Prefect, Gemma Farley. Welcome to Slytherin.”

Farley looks around at them all, her golden hair glowing with the firelight’s orange and red hues. “Your presence is testament to the potential we will help you nourish in the years to come. Each and every one of you has the ability to construct your own destiny. You have the ambition, the resourcefulness, and the tact to become the person you envision yourself to be. Do not waste your opportunities.”

“Your Housemates are now your family,” Flint picks up, heavy tone matching the gravity of the moment. “Beyond these dungeons, you will show a united front against all enemies. Out there, Slytherins stand for nobility; no foul language or immature actions will break us. In here… in here you are safe. Loyalty to your fellow Slytherin does not extend to anyone outside these walls. Our secrets are our own; showing anything but the upmost discretion will not be tolerated. By any of us.”

Harry’s glad to notice he’s not the only one who swallows harshly from the warning. Farley continues.

“If any in-House rivalries do surface, you will handle them with maturity. Should you find yourself incapable of doing so, you will bring your disagreement to the attention of myself or Flint. If we are not available, then either one of the other Prefects, the Head Girl this year — our very own Elizabeth Travers — or our Head of House, Professor Snape, can help you sort things out.”

The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up, intriguing him into looking around. He searches the room for an explanation, at first bypassing the shadowed area by the door, only to do a double-take when he realizes someone is standing there. As Harry makes eye contact with his godfather, he is startled when he doesn’t see the same violent reaction in those eyes as he did earlier. Now, the man’s attention feels smothered somehow, as though he’s hiding his true emotions.

Harry is the only First Year not to jump when Flint says, “Did you have anything to add, Professor?”

“Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Flint. Ms. Farley,” he says, prowling forward to stand opposite the Prefects. All the First Years turn to face him with rapt attention and Harry senses the rest of the Slytherins tuning in as well.

Professor Snape speaks in the same quiet, rhythmic manner Harry remembers from the Apothecary. “Slytherin House politics does not reflect those of our world at large. Here, you are recognized for your own merit, your own achievements. You will never be great if you ride on the coattails of others.” The room is silent, all students enthralled by the man’s words.

“Furthermore, you will find that I do not remove House points from Slytherins. Any necessary discipline will be mete out on an individual basis and believe me when I say that the punishment _will_ fit the crime.” Harry doesn’t like how the Professor’s eyes seem to sharpen on him for a moment too long. The Potions Master continues in a flat voice. “As for your performance around the other professors… Know that Slytherin has won the House Cup for the past six years. I have no intention of letting Professors Sprout or Flitwick, or Merlin forbid, Professor McGonagall, steal my favorite office decoration any time soon.”

That gets a wave of prideful laughter out of the older students, a few of the First Years chuckling nervously. Professor Snape allows it to die down before he continues.

“Starting tomorrow, all students in this House are scheduled to receive a medical exam from Madam Pomfrey to ensure you are up to date on vaccines and there are no outlying complications. Additionally, I will be having individual meetings with each of you twice this term to discuss your academic performance. Those times will be posted on the board,” he says, tilting just so to direct their attention to a board on the wall where already a few pamphlets and notices are hanging. “Failure to attend any of these appointments will result in severe consequences.”

Harry’s stomach plummets faster than the blood drains from his face. He can’t let anyone examine him! They’ll find out everything he’s tried to so hard to hide over the past month! Unless… maybe the scan won’t look for all that? He knows he doesn’t have his vaccines; Aunt Petunia would never allow him something that would give him a fighting chance against getting sick. If he’d died of chicken pox, then that was one less trouble for the Dursleys. Maybe Madam Pomfrey won’t look too deep into everything else if she has the vaccines to focus on. Besides, it _has_ been a whole month. Maybe he’s healthy enough that he can get away with whatever they’re looking for. He definitely feels a lot healthier than he ever has in his life.

Everything might work out.

How his meetings with his godfather might go, however, is a whole different story.

“That will be all for now. I trust each of you to retire to your dormitories soon. First Years are to be in their beds no later than ten. Breakfast starts at six, classes at eight. Do not be late.” They all nod obediently and Professor Snape bows his head in return, the shadows on his face impersonating what could be mistaken as a small smile. “Very well. Then I bid you goodnight.” He retreats further into the room, an older girl stepping away from her friends to meet him halfway.

Harry turns away from watching when Flint speaks up. “If you will follow us, we will show you to your rooms.”

They follow the Prefects to the passageways Harry had noticed earlier. He feels eyes of the older students surveying him and the other First Years, resigning himself yet again to their judgement in the foreseeable future. No matter what the Prefects and Professor Snape say, Harry knows he can’t ever let his guard down around those he doesn’t explicitly trust. The majority of Slytherins come from well-off families or have parents with important jobs. They themselves hope to one day have important jobs. Just like Harry, they will use every advantage they can in order to get there some day. Harry can’t fault them for that. He can however, in the meantime, feel disgruntled about being under constant scrutiny.

“Girls are down this way. Boys, Flint will show you to your dorms.”

Farley leads Milli, Tracey, Daphne, and Pansy down the corridor to the right while Harry, Draco, Terrence, Vince, Theo, Greg, and Blaise trail after Flint to the left.

“Boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ dorms, and girls aren’t allowed in the boys’,” Flint explains. “Only Prefects and Head students are allowed to go in both and that’s only in case of emergency or special permission. Now, this hall on the left is for Third Years, this one on the right for Sixth Years,” he says, gesturing to two lit corridors opposite eachother that stem off the main one they’re walking down. They continue to where sconces on the walls bracket two more corridors. “Second and Fifth Years.” They pass two more corridors that are the last until the main corridor cuts off, instead stretching out in either direction. “Seventh Years are down against that wall, Third Years in this corridor to the right, while you First Years are in this hall here.”

They gather around the mouth of their corridor, spotting eight lit sconces spaced out on the walls. Three on the left, four on the right, and one at the very end next to an open arched room where a fire makes shadows dance on the walls. “Each of you has your own room and facilities. Any dirty laundry you leave in the hamper by the toilet and the elves will clean them. They will also tidy up your room in general, but you are expected to keep your space orderly while you are here. Understood?”

They nod, Vince and Greg grunting in confirmation.

“Right then. Your doors are password protected against everyone except a professor or someone with a badge. To set your password, you go inside, close the door, and tap the handle three times before saying the password. You know it works if it glows green. If you need to change it, say your password then ‘reset’ and then your new password. Easy enough?” After they nod once more, he stands back. “As Professor Snape said, lights-out is ten o’clock. In the morning, it’s tradition on the first day for the whole House to walk down to breakfast together at seven, so if you wake up early, wait here or in the Common Room until it’s time. If you need anything during the night, come find a Seventh Year or one of us with a badge. Our dorm doors have green fire next to them, so we are easy to find. For your sake, however, you better have a damn good reason for interrupting our beauty sleep.”

Blaise snorts, the rest of them fidgeting, eager to get settled into their rooms.

Flint notices. “Your names are on your doors. The room at the end of the hall is a smaller version of the Common Room. Each year group has one. It’s for bonding and studying and such. Use it wisely. For now, get a good night’s rest and if you don’t know how to set an alarm, then you better figure something else out quick.”

Harry is the first to say ‘thank you’ to Flint as the Prefect departs, the others following suit before scanning the doors for their names.

Harry’s room is the third door on the left. Draco and Vince are also on his side. Greg, Terrence, Blaise, then finally Theo are on the right, Theo and Blaise’s doors being across and to either side of Harry’s.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” Harry grins at Draco, pleased that his room is tucked away from the main corridor and all the other students. Draco’s mouth quirks in return.

“Party Room in fifteen?” Blaise says to them all before they can disappear into their rooms. There’s a round of agreement and as Harry enters his room, he casts a wandless _Tempus_. Half past nine. He’s not sure how much of a ‘party’ they’re going to be able to have with just half an hour before lights-out, but who cares.

Inside, he turns to the doorknob, taking only a moment of consideration before he taps it three times with his wand and, thinking of Rhiannon, hisses ‘ **basilisk** ’. Pleased when the metal glows green, Harry turns to survey his room. Mellow lighting illuminates his pale gray wardrobe, desk, four poster bed, and what must be another window near the ceiling. He vacantly wonders how clear the lake water is during the day when the sun is high. The room’s not as large as Harry’s at Malfoy Manor, but it’s comfortable and a million times better than his cupboard.

Most importantly, however, is the meowing cage resting next to his daypack on his trunk that’s propped on the bench at the foot of his bed. Grinning, Harry releases Daisy from her confinement, kissing her squishy forehead and letting her inspect all the new smells clinging to his person.

“You get here all right?” He murmurs to her, curiously inspecting the washroom through a door off to the side. All toiletries are provided for alongside fluffy dark green towels that look like they’d hold the shape of his hand if he pressed into the material. While he can’t feel it through his shoes, Harry thinks the bedroom’s carpet is just as soft.

“Should probably unpack, shouldn’t I?” He asks Daisy, his rhetorical inquiry receiving a chirp. Daisy jumps from his arms and on to the bed’s sage green duvet, freeing Harry’s arms. He takes off his robe and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows before diving in to his trunk’s top compartment. None of his possessions appear to be disturbed, not that he expected them to be thanks to his security measures.

With his wand, he utilizes _Wingardium Leviosa_ to move his books and stationery to the desk as well as his folded clothes to the wardrobe. His robes he takes the time to hook on hangars before lining them up neatly and smoothing the fabric down.

Essentials done with, he decides to keep his other possessions in his trunk for now. Satisfied, he gathers up Daisy and leaves his room. Theo is just closing his door when Harry steps out.

He smiles when he sees the pair. “Any problems settling in?”

Harry smiles back and shakes his head. “No. You?”

“No,” Theo says, joining Harry in walking to the dubbed Party Room.

Vince and Greg are already there along with Terrence. As he saw from the corridor, a fireplace opposite the archway keeps the room nice and toasty. Seven, puffy leather chairs sit in a ring around a table in the middle of the room. Bookshelves with literature and knick-knacks line the walls around one sole painting that is an extremely accurate depiction of a howling werewolf.

“Took you lot long enough,” Terrance says, arms flopping over the sides of his chair. “Did you actually unpack?”

“You didn’t?” Theo retorts, sitting next to the boy, Harry joining him on the other side.

Terrence snorts. “Why bother? I’ll bring items out when I need them, and the elves can put it all away properly after that.”

Although he dislikes that line of reasoning, Harry shows none of his disagreement. He lays Daisy on her back on top of his thighs and baits her with his wiggling fingers in between belly rubs.

“You all were quick,” Draco says as he enters the room and plops down with all the grace of a pureblood in the seat next to Harry.

“Some of us were lazy,” Theo responds. Going by his sharp smirk and knowing glance, Draco knows exactly who Theo’s referring to.

“It’s easier,” Greg defends.

“We do it at home,” Vince shrugs.

Draco leans closer to Harry and speaks in a neutral tone without making eye contact. “I set up the terrarium for Artemis already. If she’s not with me, I imagine she will be in there staying warm. These dungeons are freezing.”

Harry understands his friend’s unspoken meaning: where Artemis goes, Forest will be close by. A flicker of worry for Forest’s health comes to life before Harry stamps it out. It’s not like Harry can do much to help the serpent, being a _pesky, usele—_

“Ah good, you’re all here,” Blaise exclaims upon crossing the threshold. Something floats in the air behind him, the familiar bottles revealing themselves in the firelight. “I figured we’d raise a toast to our next seven years together.”

They all cheerfully stand and take the butterbeers offered to them. With Daisy draped over one shoulder, Harry copies the others in raising his bottle high in the air over the table between them.

“May our futures be prosperous and may those here in this room help us on our way to greatness!” Blaise announces with a gleaming smile. His toast is met with hearty cheers and wet sloshes as they clink their bottles together.

Sipping the bubbly, butterscotch deliciousness, Harry recalls the Sorting Hat’s words.

Looking around at the boys who have somehow become what he never dreamed he could have; Harry lets the stress of the day melt off his body and mind. Tomorrow marks the start of the rest of his life. He’ll have to deal with classes, homework, staircases with minds of their own, scrutinizing professors, dangerous creatures, gossiping schoolmates, and a poorly dressed wizard who has the power to ruin his life.

For now, though, all he has to worry about is a wiggling Daisy, a crackling fire, and whether he can drink his butterbeer without snorting half of it out his nose when Vince lets loose a belch loud enough to shake the walls.

Greatness, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop! We broke 100,000 words!
> 
> So what do you all think? Does Harry belong in the House of Snakes?
> 
> I'll be honest, I took so long to update because I was fighting over placing Harry in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff was definitely on the table, but wasn't as compelling as the other two.
> 
> Another thing: I planned out two versions of the rest of the story and the one where Harry ends up in Ravenclaw holds great appeal. Would you all be interested in a separate but parallel story/alternate version where Harry does become a Raven? Everything up until the Sorting would remain the same, but Harry's experience would obviously be different going forth. If that is something you'd like to read, I'll definitely work on it. However, if I do, I think it might be best if I upload it after I complete this Slytherin version- that way there's no confusion of plot points and such.
> 
> Please leave any comments your wonderful minds think of- I love receiving them and I love you! Thanks for reading!


	10. So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first day at Hogwarts.
> 
> WARNING: *Suicidal themes when Harry is in the Astronomy Tower.* Rest assured, nothing happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back!

When Harry wakes up, he first notices the chill teasing his face. More sensations return to him and he realizes Daisy’s back is curled up against his chest under his outstretched arm.

Snuggling down into the warmth trapped under his duvet, he presses his nose against the soft fur between her ears. She smells of warmth, fresh linens, and something undeniably feline, and the combination pulls a smothering blanket over his torpid mind. He wants to stay this way forever, dozing the days away, reveling in the peaceful feeling.

The memory of where he is snaps him out of his lethargic state in an instant.

Hogwarts! Today’s the first step in starting his academic tuition in magic! What is he doing just lying here, there’s so much to do!

After a full-body, toe-curling stretch that stirs sleepy protests from Daisy, Harry sits up in bed, shivering when his feet touch the cold dungeon floor. He stands, snorting when Daisy rolls over and curls up in the spot his warm body vacated.

“Have at it,” he tells her, pulling the covers up over her purring body, careful to leave a gap for air. In the washroom, he flicks his hand to illuminate the candles, his sleep-sensitive eyes appreciating their soft glow. He completes his hygiene ritual, enjoying the provided lemon hair wash and pine-scented body soap in the shower. Wrapped in a towel, he returns to the room proper, igniting the oil lamp so he can select a set of his student uniform along with pants and socks. Clothes on and hair as tamed as it’s going to get, he debates what to do next. A quick _Tempus_ shows that it’s half past four. A bit early for him, but today of all days is not a day to sleep in.

His gaze falls on his desk, stationery supplies reminding him of Lord and Lady Malfoy’s request. Biting his lip, he sets out a crisp piece of parchment and unstoppers his ink quill. He doesn’t get further than that, mind swirling about how he’s even supposed to write a letter.

He’s never written one that wasn’t related to business of some sort. Does he call them Uncle Lucius and Aunt Cissa? They gave him permission to, so would calling them by their titles now be considered offensive? His mind strains, trying to recall the books he read or something Draco might have mentioned. He can’t very well ask Draco now, what if he had already said something about it? He’d be upset Harry hadn’t remembered.

His thumbnail picks at the quill’s sharp edge as he thinks. Maybe since he made it into Slytherin they’ll be happy enough to continue allowing him to call them Aunt and Uncle. Yes, he’ll risk it for now and if they write back calling themselves Lord and Lady, then that’s what he’ll call them in the next letter.

If there is a next letter.

With a careful hand, he dips his quill in the ink and scribes what he hopes is an acceptable letter.

_Dear Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius,_

_Having my own room is a relief. It’s right next to Draco’s too, which is wicked. I’m sure he’ll tell you more about our first night. Professor Snape seems nice._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

He re-reads it several times, concerned that he sounds too stiff or sarcastic. He knows they’ll be able to understand that he’s in Slytherin, and Draco no doubt will give them more details…

He folds the parchment before he can scrap it and re-write the whole thing. It’s just a letter. If he’s written it wrong and they hate him, then, well, he has the school year to figure out what to do over the summer. Maybe Hogwarts will let him be resorted if Draco and their other friends start to hate him too.

Another check of the time shows it’s five past five. He doubts anyone else is awake…

Which is _perfect_.

Shot full of energy, he pulls on his uniform shoes, tucks the dried letter into his robe pocket, and straps on his arm holster with his Ollivander wand safe inside.

“Daisy?” he murmurs, peeking in at her lair. She lifts her head, fur adorably flattened on her left cheek. “Do you want to go explore with me?”

She chirps, the duvet swelling before it expels her from its depths. She extends her front legs, toes spreading in what looks like a very satisfying stretch. Harry smiles at her, absently grabbing _Potions Theory: The Boiling Point—_ one of the three texts Professor Snape had selected for him in Slug and Jiggers—from his book stack before he leads the way out of the room.

The corridor is frigid, so he flicks his wrist, surrounding himself and Daisy with ripples of warmth that cling to their bodies. They silently pad past the others’ doors, pounding heart ready to jump at any sign of an alarm going off. When nothing happens and nobody comes to yell at him for being out of his dorm so early, they continue to the Common Room. Though not surprised, he is pleased to find they are indeed the first ones up.

The silence of the room presses against his ears, feeling a bit dodgy when he stands in the middle of the space for a few moments. He decides to explore the far end of the room as he’d only had a glimpse last night past the bodies of the older years.

The desks and seating areas are both elegant and utilitarian. Daisy goes over to one, sniffing around under the table. Embers spark in the grates of another fireplace framed by tapestries decorated with embellished Slytherin crests.

Past all of this, a room partially concealed in the back corner proves to be the most interesting part of the Common Room. The moment his foot crosses the threshold, sconces on either side of the doorway ignite, and Harry just about jumps out of his skin, unprepared for the sight that greets him.

A massive serpent winds around a stone monolith in the middle of the room; head craning towards Harry, forever frozen in its attack. A statue, he realizes, heart jolting into operation once more. He creeps closer, taking in the uncanny realism of the furious, fang-baring expression carved into the serpent’s head that is as large as Harry’s torso. He marvels at the pillar lovingly cradled by the beast, both sculpted from the smoothest cuts of marble, the serpent a solid white where the column is swirls of grays.

Stepping to the side, he runs a hand along the serpent’s neck, skin catching on chips in the stone that tell stories of its life subjected to students and time. Ribbons of scales run in rivulets around the serpent’s mighty girth. The indiscernible pattern does not identify its breed, a fact that does little to subtract from its imperious presence.

Harry’s eyes trail along the spiraling coils, following them up until they disappear into the gloom, the sconces not bright enough to reveal the room’s height in its entirety. It matters not to Harry. With only darkness above him, the serpent’s emergence from the heavens imitates a fallen god, poised to take vengeance on those unfortunate enough to cross its path.

He reluctantly turns away from the magnificent sight, taking in the rest of the room. The walls are curved, skeletons of bookshelves filled to the brim with dozens up on hundreds of books. They circle and stack high above him, giving the illusion that they’ll topple in on him at any moment. He lowers his head to ease his strained neck, blinking away the sense of vertigo.

Closer inspection of the bound spines reveal books he’s already read, others written for students in all years, advisory books for career prep, some scribed in unfamiliar languages, and a few that most likely would never be offered by the school’s official library.

He so desperately wants to take a few of them and hide away in his room where he can uncover their secrets in peace. He won’t though, unwilling to break any rules by borrowing what isn’t his. He’ll wait and listen around the other Slytherins until he knows for sure if he’s allowed to embrace such a tantalizing possibilities.

He looks down, noticing the floor isn’t as plain as he initially thought it to be. Underfoot, a narrow ring, barely visible, encompasses the statue with a couple meters of radius from its base. Around the circle’s edge, impressions of what Harry recognizes to be runes decorate the stone alongside other figures he doesn’t recognize. 

His head snaps up when a voice in the Common Room disrupts his curiosity. On silent feet, he leaves the room, the sconces flickering out and plunging the space into darkness once more. He cringes, certain the abrupt change in lighting has alerted the Room’s other occupant to his presence. Avoiding an interaction is unlikely.

He straightens, unwilling to look like a fool failing to sneak around. With a façade of calm confidence, he strides towards the front of the Room, eyes straining to spot the other human.

When the voice speaks again, he finds his _human_ assumption to be askew.

**The hatchling hasss been in there an awful long time.**

**Ssssso many hatchlingsss want its ssssecretsss.**

**Yet none get them.**

The hissing laughter that follows the exchange alerts Harry to the true presence he should be seeking.

 **Secrets you say?** He says in greeting to the two serpents in the painting above the fireplace from the night before.

Both snakes, one the color of a vine, the other as dark as a raven’s feather, eye him in shock before their bodies lean forward, pressing against the front of their crafted containment.

**A ssspeaker?**

**A ssspeaker!**

**We are blesssssed!**

**He’s ssso sssmall!**

**Ssso preciousss!**

**He mussst be protected!**

**I’m not that small,** Harry replies, refusing to acknowledge the pout accompanying those words. **And I can protect myself.**

 **No, no, you are but a hatchling!** The darker of the two denies, shaking his head with determined vigor. **A hatchling asss sssmall asss you isss vulnerable without a nessst mother and needsss to be protected.**

 **A nest mother?** Harry clarifies. **Like _cousinofserpent_? **

**Yesss! Yesss!** They cheer. **Exactly like _cousssinofssserpent!_**

Harry’s heart shudders with a pang. The reminder of Hera and all that happened in their brief time together deals a painful blow to his emotions.

**Now hatchling looksss sssad. Why did you make hatchling sssad!**

**I didn’t! Hatchlingsss are to be cherissshed and loved! I would never harm a hatchling!**

**We mussst fix thisss** , the green snake cries, lowering herself to be closer to Harry. **What bringsss trouble to eyesss asss magnificent asss me, hatchling?**

A surprised huff escapes Harry, the snake’s concern soothing his rough edges. **It’s nothing. I’m fine. Thank you, _scalesofwild_. **

**No fair!** The other snake whines, ignoring his partner’s happy wiggling. **I wish for a title too, hatchling!**

Harry considers the serpent for a moment. **How about _consumerofnight?_**

A pleased hiss reassures him of his decision. 

“It has been decades since I have seen those two so enamored.”

Harry whirls around, hand instinctively raised to defend himself against the female that had somehow sneaked up behind him. The person he finds is yet another surprise, but one he should have expected.

“Pray tell, what have you three been discussing that riles them so?” The woman asks. From her perch above the fireplace, she contemplates Harry, position regal in her plush armchair. Her painted long-sleeved green and gold gown makes the faint pink hues detailed into her alabaster skin positively glow in the artwork’s warm lighting.

Harry manually slows his breathing, blanking his expression once more. “Hello,” he starts. “We were discussing titles. I have given them theirs since they insist on calling me a hatchling.”

She graces him the slightest raise of one brow. “I see nothing wrong with their assessment.”

“I guess,” he replies, chagrined. Briefly, he wonders how she came to be familiar with the serpentine term. Deciding to brush that thought aside, he figures now is a good time to show some manners. He bows deep enough to demonstrate his respect towards someone of a higher yet unknown position above him. “Forgive me, my Lady. My name is Harry Potter, Heir to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman’s hands fold in her lap as she continues to observe him. “You are a polite boy, Heir Potter. That is surprising to see in one from a family as Light as the Potters.”

“I have been without my family since I was a baby,” Harry says in a flat voice, knowing she won’t be the first person to make a similar comment. “I see no reason to follow in the footsteps of people I don’t remember.”

An emotion flashes over her face quicker than Harry can decipher it, nevertheless, her tone is marginally lighter when she responds. “A very Slytherin answer, Heir Potter. My name is Aine Ó’Briain, Master of Alchemy and former Head of Slytherin. My portrait has been a guardian for the house of snakes since my death in 1771.”

Harry nods his head, reconfiguring his perception of the woman to incorporate this new information. “It’s an honor, Master Ó’Briain.”

Her chin dips. “The same could be said about you, Heir Potter. Defeater of the Dark Lord. The Chosen One. Your name has been whispered many times within these walls.”

Harry’s expression sours against his will.

“You find your fame displeasing?”

“It came at the cost of my family and a sentence worse than death,” Harry replies, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Has it?” Her hair sways as she tilts her head. “Notoriety, no matter its source, is beneficial. You would be wise to use it to your advantage.”

Harry deflates. He wants to feel offended at her blatant implication that he should use his parents’ deaths to get his way in life; yet how can he when he recognizes the truth behind her words?

That isn’t to say he won’t always be annoyed with being recognized by a whole society for something he doesn’t remember doing.

He decides to flip the conversation. “You said guardian of Slytherin.”

“Guardian. Protector. Supervisor. Tutor. Whatever the students of Slytherin require to remain safe while under my jurisdiction.”

“I didn’t know the Houses had guardians like that.”

“Hufflepuff and Gryffindor do not. Ravenclaw has a centurion that lacks the capabilities I possess, but it is present all the same.”

Harry wonders why neither the Malfoys nor any of the books he’s gone through mentioned Master Ó’Briain. “Forgive me… I’ve read _Hogwarts: A History_ , other books, and stayed with the Malfoy family… they never mentioned you being here in the Common Room.”

“Even for a House known for being resourceful, Slytherins often cannot work past their pride and use that which is available to them.” At his consternated look, she elaborates. “They think themselves above speaking to a portrait of a long dead ghost.”

“But you’re a master of Alchemy! And former Head!” Harry protests, questioning how foolish Slytherins have been. Not talking to portraits is silly. Just look at who he’s met by talking to ‘long dead ghosts’! They’re not living beings, he knows that, but they’re just as alive as they were at the time of their portraits’ creations. “Would you like it if more people spoke to you?”

That invokes more emotion out of her than he’s seen so far. The surprised expression melts away as quickly as it came while she pauses to press out the creases in her gown. She folds her hands together once more and speaks with an uncaring tone. “I would not be opposed to engaging in more discussions with you children. After all, it is my duty.”

“I can help with that.”

**Why doesss ssshe get more hatchlingsss, but we don’t?**

Harry turns back to the upset snakes. **You have me now** , he tells them. **I’ll come talk to you.**

They writhe a little with reinvigorated excitement. **Yessss. You mussst tell usss everything, hatchling. You tell usss ssecretsss and we tell you ourssss.**

Oh right, their supposed secrets. The painted snakes have undoubtedly observed and experienced whatever shady coming and goings that have occurred in the Common Room over the years. And best of all, they can’t tell anyone else what they discuss. **You have a deal.**

 **Yesss** they exclaim, sliding over each other in their anticipation. **What would—**

Harry holds up his hand, hearing footsteps approaching from one of the dorm corridors. He’s still resistant to people knowing he’s a parselmouth, especially when he can’t trust that they’ll respond as well as the Malfoys and his friends have.

 **We will talk later,** he promises **_scalesofwild_** and **_consumerofnight_.**

**We better.**

Harry settles on the couch beneath their portrait and opens his book in time to see a girl with dark hair and school robes enter the room. From under his fringe, he watches her freeze upon spotting him. When she heads over, he inwardly braces himself, consciously maintaining his calm exterior.

“Good morning,” she greets in a plain, neutral tone, stopping at the end of the couch opposite him, one thumb tucked under the bookbag on her shoulder. “Potter, right?”

He lowers his book, giving her his full attention and absently wondering if he’ll ever get to be as tall as her. “Yes, good morning.”

She steps closer, holding out a hand that he shakes. “I am Elizabeth Travers.”

“The Head Girl?” He asks, the name ringing a bell. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she says, taking a seat opposite him. Her wand is drawn from the depths of her robe, Harry’s eyes tracking it as she completes a motion and mutters, “ _Incendio_ ”. The fireplace comes to life with a woosh, bathing them both in heat. “I see you are an early bird as well.”

He figures she’s prying, out of concern or fuel for gossip. The truth is inconsequential either way, so he indulges her curiosity. “There’s a lot to get done. I’m sure you’re already swamped with Head Girl responsibilities.”

“It will be a challenging year,” she replies, magnanimous until a smirk makes itself known. “The benefits ease the burden.”

“I’m sure,” he smirks back, recalling the tales Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius shared. He feels attention on them and tracks it to Master Ó’Briain’s portrait. Never too early to cash in on his promise, is it? “Have you met Master Ó’Briain?”

Travers’s back straightens when she follows his gestured hand to the portrait that’s been watching their entire interaction. “I am sorry, I cannot say I have. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Charmed,” Master Ó’Briain replies, devoid of any positive or negative emotion.

Harry studies Travers’s reaction. If she was rude and unwilling to have a respectful conversation with Master Ó’Briain, then he wouldn’t push her towards it. However, he notices that she seems more confused than anything else, so he does his best to salvage the introduction. “Master Ó’Briain is the former professor of Alchemy and Head of Slytherin. She’s been a guardian of the Common Room since 1771.” He doesn’t bother to tell the woman Elizabeth’s first name, as she just heard it said to Harry.

“Right,” Travers blinks and Harry has the surreal experience of seeing a nearly-grown Slytherin break their composure. “Right. My apologies, ma’am, I’ve never…”

“You are not the first,” Master Ó’Briain cuts off, waving a nonchalant hand. “Nor will you be the last. You have grown to be a fine young woman, Miss Elizabeth Travers. That is all I require of you. From any of the Slytherins.”

“Even the boys?” Travers says in a light tone. Harry’s cheek twitches.

Master Ó’Briain’s eyes crinkle before smoothing out. “Very few of your male counterparts succeed in that aspect, I am afraid.”

Harry huffs a silent laugh at Travers’s devious smile, a grunt following when Daisy appears from the shadows and jumps onto his lap. “Anything interesting?” he murmurs to her.

She mrows, rubbing her head against his chin. 

“Did it find the passageway already?” Travers asks, watching Daisy claim Harry’s lap as her territory.

“Passageway?” Harry doesn’t like that he has to ask for the clarification.

Travers does not seem surprised he is uninformed. “In each Common Room, there is a concealed passageway that pets can take to the castle’s Familiar Room where they can eat, socialize and play. It’s mostly for the cats, as the owls are in the owlery and toads tend to stay in their owner’s dorm. I know there are a few other animals roaming about, though I am not sure if they find the Room as well.”

Harry frowns, scratching the spot above Daisy’s tail that makes her arch her back in pleasure. “All the cats of the castle in one room? Don’t they fight?”

An exaggerated puff of air forces its way out of Travers’s nose in her amusement. “There are wards that prevent that. Same with them tearing up the furniture or eating any other pets. Their fur and dander are vanished too.”

Huh. That’s much better than what Harry expected. He’s rather relieved to know that Daisy won’t be stuck in their dorm all day while he’s in class. Looks like he’ll be saving the cat food he bought for some time to come. “That is good to know.”

Travers hums in agreement. “One would think it would be more well-known information, but alas, hardly anything in this backwards school makes sense.”

Harry’s chest jolts with the unexpected laugh he barks out. Daisy startles at the sound and gives him a reproachful meow while she skulks away once more into the shadows of the room. Harry watches her go. “Shouldn’t the Head Girl be advocating Hogwarts’s greatness to an impressionable kid like me?”

Travers’s grin is all teeth. “Who says I am not? It is, after all, part of Her charm.”

“ _Her_?” Harry repeats. “Hogwarts?”

“Those who have felt the magic of the castle say it is distinctly feminine,” Travers says, eyes roving the room. “Many say that is complete rubbish, since it is a building and all. Although, once you live in her walls for seven years… well.”

Harry thinks he understands. Maybe Hogwarts has the same warm, nurturing energy he observed during the past month whenever Aunt Cissa doted on Draco. At least, he certainly hopes Hogwarts feels more like Aunt Cissa, and _not_ like Petunia. He doesn’t think he’ll last all seven years if that’s the feeling he’ll be surrounded by all the time.

“I thought you might be out here already, Liz.”

Harry looks up when a new voice breaks across the Room. A tall boy with a square jaw and swagger to his step approaches, attention on Travers. She offers up a hand when he’s close and he takes it, kissing the back of her palm.

“You know me too well,” Travers replies in a flat tone, though Harry thinks he hears fondness hiding in her words. He looks between the two older students, guessing that they must be a couple, maybe even betrothed.

Travers quickly confirms his theory. “Damian, I would like to introduce you to Harry Potter. Potter, this is Damian Burke, my betrothed. He is a Sixth Year Prefect.”

Damian shakes Harry’s offered hand, studying him with a shrewdness Harry has come to expect.

“Well met,” Harry says, remembering one of the proper phrases from the etiquette books.

“Well met,” Burke responds, releasing his grip to stand back next to Travers. “Liz, you wanted to do some revision?”

“Yes,” Travers says, standing from the couch, letting Burke hoist her bookbag on to his left shoulder, the right already occupied by his own satchel. “The Prefects will be handing out timetables before we head to breakfast, Potter. Oh, and I neglected to mention…” She pulls out a rolled-up scroll from her bag, removing the seal and searching for something on the parchment. “Looks like your appointment with Madam Pomfrey is Wednesday evening after dinner, and your first meeting with Professor Snape is on Friday, same time.”

“Okay,” Harry says, dread making his face go cold. “Thank you.”

She gives him a faint smile. “A pleasure speaking with you.”

“Likewise,” he replies, also returning Burke’s offered stiff nod.

“Master Ó’Briain,” Travers adds, bowing to the woman before leading her betrothed to the desks near the library alcove. Harry notices Burke look back at Master Ó’Briain before murmuring something to Travers. He suspects Burke is another student who has not enjoyed the pleasure of the painted woman’s company.

She seems to pick up on his thoughts. “The Burke family is steeped in the Dark, Heir Potter, with branches and relations in a number of other such families.”

He’s not surprised, the majority of his Housemates are likely to be Dark magic practitioners or related to some.

Is he evil for not caring one bit?

 **Thossse two think they’re sssneaky, _consumerofnight_** speaks up.

 ** _Scalesofwild_** adds her thoughts. **They be sssneaking around many nightsss, but we alwaysss sssee them.**

**We sssee _everything_.**

They break into laughter, the sound like sheafs of parchment sliding together. Harry acts innocent when the subjects of their amusement look over from their desk. He’s curious himself as to why the serpents find ‘sneaking around’ to be so funny. Maybe because Burke and Travers didn’t think anyone was watching and that they got away with it?

When the teenagers go back to their studying, Harry holds his book up in front of his face to hide his reply to the snakes. **What are they doing when sneaking around?**

That somehow sets off a whole new round of laughter from the snakes and confusion on Harry’s part. **_Scalesofwild_** is the first to recuperate enough to respond. **What elssse do maturing hatchlingsss do in the nighttime?**

Harry fingers his book’s cover, stumped by the snake’s implications. He can think of a number of things teenagers could get up to late at night in a deserted castle, but somehow, the snakes’ leering tones makes him reconsider the options.

Oh well, he doesn’t need to worry about it. It can’t be _too_ bad if the Head Girl is involved.

He relaxes, actually devoting his attention to _Potions Theory: The Boiling Point_ , devouring and analyzing with a fervor that reinvigorates his determination to do well in the subject. For a time, he reads, deaf and blind to the changes in the Room around him.

“Harry!”

His head and shoulders jerk away from the voice and hand jostling his arm, focus ripped away from his book and on to a peeved Draco standing over him.

“Draco?” Harry questions, voice bleary, hand subconsciously raised to block any further moves of aggression.

“You didn’t answer your door when I knocked!”

“Well, no… I was out here.”

“I didn’t know that!” Draco huffs, belatedly releasing his arm. Harry briefly questions why Draco is so bothered by this. Should he have waited for Draco to wake up and find him? Did he miss him saying something about it last night?

He takes the safest route. “Sorry.”

“It’s half past six, how long have you been out here?”

“A while.”

Draco’s bristly posture breaks and he falls into the seat next to Harry, pouting tone promising he hasn’t quite forgiven Harry’s discretions. “You better not have gone exploring without me.”

Harry bites back a bittersweet smile, feeling flushed knowing he has a good friend in Draco. “I only looked around the Common Room. There’s a library in the back with a statue in the middle of the room.”

“Is there?” Draco asks, back straightening with his interest. “Mother and Father never mentioned that.”

“What’s the point of sending you to this school if they tell you everything about it beforehand?” Blaise throws himself down in the couch across from them, throwing a lazy arm over its back. Theo is not far behind and takes a seat next to Blaise. They’re both dressed for the day, but that’s about where their similarities end. Theo seems to sag under the weight of his exhaustion whereas Blaise is bright and chipper.

Draco leans forward, face set with agitation. “Because! To be forewarned is to be—”

“—forearmed, yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” Blaise rolls his eyes, having no problem doing so in present company. “Merlin knows how many times we’ve heard that saying over the years.”

Draco makes a petulant reply that Blaise returns in kind, the two of them indulging in a verbal battle until they’re interrupted by the rest of their friends trailing over and joining them on the available couches. Older students fill the room as well, standing or sitting in clumps as they converse with friends. When word spreads that the schedule for health checks and Head of House meetings is posted on the board, students migrate over there to find their assigned times.

Harry looks up to Master Ó’Briain to see her watching the First Years mingle. He debates introducing them all to her now but immediately decides against it seeing as how the growing volume in the Room wouldn’t be conducive to a proper discussion.

“Do you have a letter for Mother and Father?” Draco asks in a low voice while the others are distracted by an argument between Terrence and Tracey.

Harry retrieves the letter from his pocket and lets Draco take it. “I wasn’t sure what to say…”

“That’s fine,” Draco reassures, patting his own pocket. “I wrote plenty for the both of us.”

His smile is thin, relieved that Draco isn’t offended by his lackluster correspondence abilities.

“I’ll send them off at breakfast with Hedwig,” Draco continues, putting an end to Harry’s deliberating.

They rejoin their friends’ discussions, Draco adding his two cents whenever he deems it necessary. Flint and Farley come over not long after and hand the group their timetables, warning them they have ten minutes to go get their textbooks and stationery for the day before the House leaves for breakfast.

On the way to his dorm, Harry looks over the day’s schedule, listening to the other boys discuss it as well. After breakfast, they have double Charms, a break third period, then lunch, after which is a single Transfiguration period, followed by double Defense before they have the rest of the day to themselves.

“Gryffindors for Defense, that’s going to be fun,” Blaise says, Cheshire cat-like grin in place for all to see.

“Thank Merlin we’ll be with Ravenclaw for Charms and Transfiguration,” Theo comments, sounding slightly more awake than he had ten minutes previous. “We might end up having intellectual conversations after all.”

“That’s for sure,” Terrence snorts, branching off to enter his room. The rest of them do the same. Harry is quick to collect his supplies, adding his Potions book to his bag in case he has time to read during the day. Casting _Tersus_ to clean and straighten his clothes, he rejoins the others in the corridor, walking with the older years boys who have also retrieved their books for the day. In the Common Room, everyone mills about, waiting for something.

Draco’s shoulder nudges Harry’s. “Artemis didn’t want to come with me when I was leaving. She’ll likely stay in my room all day.”

Harry hears Draco’s unsaid message loud and clear. Artemis, and therefore Forest, aren’t going to be around on the first day of school. He swallows hard, looking away and blinking furiously. Draco doesn’t push, staying right where he is at Harry’s side.

Soon enough, the girls rejoin the boys, and Travers calls out across the room, telling everyone it’s time to head out. The First Years are maneuvered forward, reuniting with Flint and Farley near the door. Harry gives Master Ó’Briain a harried look on the way past that she returns with a pointed nod. With her unsaid support, he rallies his nerves just in time to feel the cold of the dungeon corridor strike his uncovered skin, biting against the heat the fire and body-warmed Common Room provided.

“We are taking the Slughorn Stairs this time,” Farley tells the First Years, leading the way towards a spiraling staircase. “They are a shortcut to the Entrance Hall. The other Houses do not use them as often as the Slytherin Corridor entrance to the dungeons. That is the route we took last night.”

The murmur of conversation swells as they ascend the tight quarters and Harry is more than relieved when they break out into the Entrance Hall. The smells of breakfast swirl through the air and beckon them into the Great Hall.

It’s much brighter than it was last night, candles unnecessary when the enchanted ceiling’s blue sky is willing to share its bright demeanor with them all. The majority of Ravenclaw is present, most absently eating while nose-deep in their books. Only about half of the Badgers are seated, a lot of smiles and teasing exchanged in between bites of their meals. Harry notices how hardly any Gryffindors are eating, and those that are look about ready to fall asleep in their cups of tea or coffee.

Slytherin’s united entrance does cause a bit of commotion among the students and filled Head Table. The Hufflepuffs break out in whispers, watching their procession. A handful of older lions look up and snort at the sight before turning back to their drinks. Only a few Ravens can be bothered enough to survey the sight until they too return to their books. With the quickest of looks, Harry spies Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall ( _he can’t call them his godparents anymore- he doesn’t deserve them_ ) watching with concealed pride and amusement respectively. The headmaster on the other hand, makes Harry’s eyes hurt as the man’s yellow robes are decorated with orange shooting stars that shine brighter than an over-powered _Lumos_.

Harry feels the attention of many following his movement as he and his friends sit at the end of the table furthest from the doors, bags resting at their feet. He’s fortunately not on the edge of the table like Vince and Greg are, but he still feels exposed under numerous assessing gazes. He vehemently ignores the seated adults, instead occupying his shaking hands by gripping the straps of his daypack. He tries to keep any emotions erased from his face, waiting for Draco to finish scooping up the eggs so he can put some on his own plate.

He doesn’t add much else, taking small, slow bites, letting his friends do all the talking around him. Much to his relief, they speak much quieter than the Hufflepuffs and increasing number of Gryffindors entering the Hall. He doesn’t think he’d ever have fit in with such a rowdy bunch.

When the Hall is packed, silverware clattering, conversation humming, and tables thumping under careless hands, there is a fluttering of wings overhead. Doing his best not to gape like a fish, Harry watches as a couple hundred owls descend from somewhere in the ceiling, all soaring towards their individual students.

Hedwig is easy to spot, her white feathers one of a kind in the mass of browns, blacks, and reds. She swoops towards them, elegantly easing her taloned feet on to Harry’s shoulder. He frowns at her then at Draco, silently questioning why she’s decided he’s a better perch than her actual owner. Draco smirks in amusement and Harry realizes the git is perfectly content letting Hedwig ruffle someone else’s robes.

“Hullo, Hedwig,” Harry sighs, picking up the last piece of Draco’s bacon and tearing it into a couple bitesize pieces for the owl. She hoots in pleasure, contrasting Draco who pauses in his efforts of securing their letters in her leg pouch to scowl at him. Harry gives him a cocky ‘ _yes?_ ’ look back and strokes the owl’s fluffy breastbone feathers.

Draco mutters something under his breath that gets drowned out when the owl hoots once more and takes flight, smacking both boys in the back of their heads with her wings.

Draco practically squawks in indignation, much to the amusement of Harry and those around them who see the interaction.

“That’s one clever owl,” Daphne comments, lifting her arm so that her tawny owl has a higher perch to take off from.

“She’s a menace,” Draco whines, smoothing back his gelled hair.

“I think she’s pretty,” Pansy states, retrieving an errant feather from Draco’s hair.

Draco glowers again, his retort cut off when Professors McGonagall, Snape, and two others stand from the Head Table, garnering the Hall’s attention. They each make their way to one of the four student tables, stacks of papers appearing in their hands. Harry watches how matronly Professor Sprout is with the Hufflepuffs, arms swinging and chest bouncing with laughter, threatening to dispel the dirt coating her green robes. Professor Flitwick looks just as feverish while he addresses his Ravens, though his sharp suit and groomed appearance make him appear far more composed. Harry brings his attention back to his own table when Professor Snape appears before his group.

“Good morning,” their Head of House greets in his measured, melodious voice that is impossible to ignore. “I trust you all slept well?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorus, food and conversation forgotten.

The professor continues to eye them, posture straight yet somehow looming. “You should have received your timetables before breakfast. Obey them. Memorize them. Do not lose them. The blank spaces are free time that I strongly _encourage_ you to use for studying.”

“Yes, sir,” they all recite once more, hearing loud and clear ‘order’ instead of ‘encourage’.

Harry keeps his eyes on the man’s hands, familiar potion-stains bringing forth their previous interaction at the Apothecary. When the man says nothing else, Harry raises his head, only to meet a rather unpleasant expression. He shrinks back without realizing it.

“Mister… Potter,” Professor Snape drawls, making Harry want to sink right through the floor and preferably into a melting pot in the kitchens. “Our. New. Celebrity.”

Harry swallows once, then twice when his throat remains dry. “Good morning, Professor Snape,” he manages to rasp.

“Is it?” The question is as rhetorical as it is lofty, and Harry knows something is coming that he won’t like.

“Sir?”

“You were up rather early this morning, Mister Potter. Causing trouble so soon?”

Harry freezes, furiously reevaluating his actions this morning. How could the professor possibly have found out? Master Ó’Briain wouldn’t have told the man, would she? Harry hadn’t done anything wrong for her to report on. Travers? Maybe, though she hadn’t seemed angry he was awake. Besides, she had been up not long after him…

Monitoring wards, then? It would make sense. There’s little use having set bedtimes if there’s no way to ensure they’re being obeyed. Does that mean he woke the professor up when he left his dorm just after five? He gulps. No wonder the man already hates him.

His eyes lower, apologetic tone barely avoiding sounding pathetic and fake. “I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I apologize for disrupting you.”

When he glances up, he finds Professor Snape’s face to be completely blank. The silence between them stretches on long enough for older Slytherins to peek over, wondering what’s holding up their Head of House. Finally, when Harry is on the verge of waving a hand in front of the man’s bottomless eyes, Draco clears his throat. Face unchanging, Professor Snape snaps back into motion.

“Do mind yourself, Mister Potter,” Professor Snape warns in a low, terrifying growl that makes Harry’s stomach clench. “Your arrogance and mischievous habits will not be tolerated in my House.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry apologizes, staring unseeing at his hands. His mood has plummeted faster than a dive on his broom. He really is destined to do everything wrong, isn’t he?

That thought is cut off when Blaise speaks up from next to him. “If waking up early to read a book by the fire is considered mischievous, then it looks like I am going to have to rethink my study habits, Professor.”

Harry doesn’t look up at Professor Snape, but he does hear the sneer in the man’s next words. “Mind your tone, Mister Zabini.”

“Of course, Professor, of course!” Blaise exclaims, louder than is proper. “Arrogance is far too unbecoming this time of day.”

With a burning glare, the Professor quickly moves on to the older years, falling into discussion with them about their timetables.

“Someone is a bit grumpy today,” Theo mutters when Professor Snape is out of earshot.

“I’ve heard he’s grumpy every day,” Pansy says, sipping the rest of her tea.

“Getting on us for waking up early?” Draco spits, narrowing his eyes at his godfather’s back. “It’s like he doesn’t trust us! Does he think we’re children?”

“Wonder where he got a notion like that,” Terrence says with a scoff. Draco immediately sets in on him, providing entertainment for those around them.

Harry turns his head slightly in Blaise’s direction, speaking just loud enough for the boy to hear. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Blaise gives a wink and grin meant only for Harry’s eyes. “It was worth it.”

Harry’s cheek twitches in the semblance of a smile, their surroundings and his dampened mood prohibiting any stronger display of gratitude from showing.

The Hall’s increased volume and the arrival of Farley and Flint signals the end of breakfast. “You all nearly done?” Farley asks.

Vince and Greg grab a few more pastries each as they all stand, slinging bags over their shoulders. Most of the older Slytherins have already left, the remaining ones scarfing down their meals with fastidious grace.

“The Charms classroom is on the third floor,” Flint tells them once their group leaves the din of the Great Hall behind and climbs the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall. “Professor Flitwick is a fair professor. Do not cause problems and there won’t be any. Watch yourself here, we are stepping on this one.”

They watch, Harry being the only one to show his dumbstruck thoughts as a staircase dislodges from one landing across the cavernous stretch between the floor wings before grinding to a halt in front of them. It was one thing to read about it in Riddle’s diary and hear about it from the Malfoys, but it’s completely bewildering seeing in person the sentient stairs move.

They clamber on, heeding Farley’s warning to not lag behind. The reason becomes apparent when, as soon as her foot leaves the platform, the stairs groan their way back to the other side of the cavern where a group of Hufflepuffs are waiting for it. The presence of hundreds of portraits of animals, landscapes, people, and random objects adds to the disorientation of it all.

“Haven’t seen that before, have ya?” A painting of a plump, cheery-cheeked man chortles from his spot next to the wing’s archway.

Harry ignores him, letting himself be shepherded up a larger staircase that has different sized steps. They make it up, barely avoiding jolted knees and stubbed toes.

At the top, Flint stops, pointing across the way to the other wing. “ _That_ is the prohibited third floor corridor. You will lose points getting caught there. Do not lose points.”

He goes on, leading them down the Charms Corridor, Harry well aware of Flint working around blatantly banning them from going in the forbidden corridor. 

He hides his smirk. Slytherins. Honestly.

Although, the corridor is bound to be interesting if they're forbidden from it. Maybe he should sneak around there later, he needs to find out what's behind the door, he has to--

\--do absolutely nothing. He frowns and shakes his head, ridding himself of such foolish thoughts that had appeared out of nowhere. He has no intention of going somewhere if it's dangerous, especially since there's a high likelihood of security measures that can get him into trouble. It's definitely not worth it.

“Here we are, Classroom Two-E. We are a few minutes early,” Flint says, stopping them just before the open doorway. They can hear murmuring inside and assume it’s their Ravenclaw counterparts. Flint points down the corridor. “Lavatories are down there. Do not wander off by yourself, not even to the loo. When you get let out at half past ten, you will have a period free to explore. Try not to get yourselves maimed or killed. Be at lunch at twelve. We will bring you to Transfiguration afterwards. Understood?”

Receiving confirmation, Flint and Farley leave for their own class.

“Ah, Slytherins!” A cheerful voice squeaks when Harry and the others cross the classroom’s entryway. “Wonderful, wonderful! Come in, come in! I believe my Ravens saved the left side of the room for you today.”

Harry stays close to Draco, surreptitiously observing the spacious room. Tiered seats on either side of a wide aisle stretch its expanse. Floor to ceiling windows backlight Professor Flitwick standing behind his lectern at the head of the aisle, stacks of books teetering around him.

A blue-robed Terry gives Harry a little wave when they make eye contact and Harry gives him a nod in return, following Blaise and Draco in sitting on the top row. Theo sits down on his right with Tracey next to him.

“Splendid!” Their excited professor exclaims when they’re all settled and have quills out. “Now then! I am Professor Flitwick for those of you that don’t know. I will be your Charms professor this year and, with any luck, for the remainder of your time here at Hogwarts! I hope you all will come to trust me to prepare you for the world at large, and I will endeavor to trust you to do your best when it comes to understanding the art of Charms. Do you all find that acceptable?”

All the Ravenclaws reassure him with enthusiastic ‘yes, sirs’ whereas the Slytherins give him composed nods. They’re all eager to learn and Professor Flitwick is proving to be a promising teacher.

The slight man claps his hands together in delight. “Excellent! Since today is a double period, I thought it might be beneficial to go through a few basic charms and see where everyone is. Yes? Very good, then I ask you all to bring out your wands, careful not to poke anybody with them!”

There is a brief rustling of fabric and murmur of worried excitement as wands are withdrawn. Harry notices that a few Ravens look pale. He guesses they’re muggleborns or have had very little practice before Hogwarts- they weren’t as lucky as him.

“If any of you have browsed our book for this year, _The Standard Book of Spells_ , then this first one might be familiar to you. The Levitation Charm. Can anyone tell me what its incantation is?”

All the Ravenclaws raise their hands, along with Tracey and Milli. Professor Flitwick points at Tracey.

“Yes! Miss…?”

“Davis, sir. The incantation is _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

“Yes! Very good!” Professor Flitwick cheers. “Take five points for Slytherin, Miss Davis. Excellent pronunciation. Did you notice that class? The incantation requires more emphasis on the ‘o’ in _Leviosa._ Not the ‘a’. _LeviOsa_. Got it? Excellent! Now can anyone demonstrate the wand movement? Yes, Miss Turpin?”

A girl with an upturned nose and brown hair pulled back in a ponytail answers. “The wand movement is like this, Professor,” she says, proceeding to demonstrate the swish-and-flick motion Draco had taught Harry.

“Fantastic, Miss Turpin! Five points to Ravenclaw. Everyone, let’s give it a go ourselves. Ready? Without words: swish and flick. Yes, just like that. A little sharper on the flick, Mister Cornfoot.”

Once satisfied everyone has the wand movement down, Professor Flitwick points his wand at the ceiling and gives it a wave. There’s a sudden _POOF!_ as an explosion of feathers appear out of nowhere and gently float down under the professor’s careful control, one in front of each student.

“There we are! Best not to use your own quills for this exercise; accidents do tend to happen on the first day! I would like for each of you to practice on your feather now. Try to float it in front of you for as long as you can. Off you go!”

Harry meets Draco’s eye and smirks at the exasperated ‘ _seriously?_ ’ expression on his friend’s face. He leans closer and whispers under his breath. “This is what you get for being so smart. Maybe he’ll give us less homework if we get it right.”

“I always get it right,” Draco huffs, jabbing the feather with his wand. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

Harry takes a different route to amuse himself and his friend. “I bet I can knock your feather out of the air.”

“Cannot!”

“Can too.”

Turns out he can, despite Draco’s determined denial. To be fair, as the class proceeds to practice, Draco also fights back and ruins Harry’s concentration long enough to drop his feather after he makes his own trail under Harry’s nose.

“That’s so not fair!” Harry hisses under his breath, rubbing his nose to get rid of the sensation to sneeze.

“Doesn’t matter, I won!” Draco retorts, eyes glowing with manic glee.

Blaise snorts, resting his chin in one hand, the other lazily making his feather dance in the air, occasionally dipping down to brush across Vince and Greg’s ears, much to their confused chagrin.

Harry is formulating his next feathered attack when Professor Flitwick calls the class to attention.

“Very good, everyone! I see a few of you have had some practice! Let’s see how you handle this next one: The Unlocking Charm. Miss Brocklehurst, are you able to tell me the incantation for this charm?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s _Alohomora_ ,” a girl with wavy auburn hair says.

“Five points to Ravenclaw! Can anyone demonstrate the wand movement for _Alohomora_?”

Terrence answers when he’s called on. “The movement is like a backward ‘s’, Professor.”

Professor Flitwick claps his hands when Terrence demonstrates it correctly. “Exactly! Five points to Slytherin. Does anyone need that repeated? No? Alright!”

With a wave, the feathers in the room morph, becoming solid and heavy until they clunk on the desks as brassy, closed padlocks with key holes.

“Go on then, try it, try it!” Professor Flitwick calls out to his impressed audience. Doing wordless, instantaneous and simultaneous transfiguration on so many objects is highly advanced. Just how much magic does their professor have?

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Harry says, voice barely audible. He completes the ‘s’ shape movement and with a click, his padlock opens.

“You’re welcome,” Draco murmurs, clearly pleased with Harry’s success and his own when his padlock disengages.

Harry turns, lopsided grin falling into place. “Thank you, Professor Draco.”

Draco preens, returning to fiddling with his padlock. Harry repeats the charm several times, losing interest after a while. To assuage his growing boredom, he glances around at the others.

The Slytherin side of the room is full of clicks and clacks as their padlocks are opened and reengaged. The charm is clearly nothing new to them. The Ravenclaws however, do not have the same success rate. Harry watches as a strawberry-blonde haired girl he thinks is named Morag-something or other does the correct wand movement and speaks with intent, but her padlock only wobbles on the desk. She tries again with the same results and increasing frustration. Something unnamable squeezes Harry’s gut. Should he be messing around, showing off how easy he can perform the charms when there are some people struggling? It’s not like he can help her though, she’s on the other side of the room.

Professor Flitwick solves the problem for him. Which, Harry supposes, is the professor’s actual job, so it seems only right. The diminutive man comes up next to her seat, his brown, parted hair just barely visible above the desktop. They exchange words Harry can’t hear and Morag nods, face set with renewed confidence as she tries the charm again. When the lock finally opens, Harry’s shoulders relax at the relief and joy radiating off Morag. She accepts praise from their equally pleased professor, expressing her gratitude in a high voice that rises over the din of the classroom for a short moment.

Waiving off her thanks, Professor Flitwick moves on down the row to check on Terry, leaving a successful Morag behind.

“What are you looking at?”

Harry shrugs at Draco’s needling. “Just watching.”

She’s fine. It’s fine. Harry doesn’t need to help her. He doesn’t need to save everyone. He just needs to worry about himself.

“Well, stop. It’s creepy.”

Now Harry scowls at Draco. “It’s not creepy.”

“Yeah it is.”

“Is not.”

“It is a bit, mate,” Blaise cuts in, leaning forward to see around Draco.

Harry exhales harshly. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Right,” Blaise teases, dragging out the word and Harry’s suffering. “Just make sure not to do it too much. People will think you fancy her.”

Harry sputters. “I don’t!” He says, voice too loud, making Pansy and Daphne turn around in question. “I wasn’t watching because of that!”

“Who were you watching?” Pansy asks, immediately invested in the topic.

“Nothing! No one!”

Blaise speaks over him. “Professor Flitwick.”

Pansy’s nose scrunches in confusion and a bit of distaste. “Why were you watching—”

“I wasn’t!” Harry exclaims, hands planted and body leaning over the desk.

“You weren’t what, Mister Potter?”

Oops. Harry hadn’t seen Flitwick come over; the professor must have heard his name or picked up on their off-topic conversation.

Harry immediately pulls himself together, his friends doing the same around him. “Pansy asked if I was struggling with the charm, Professor. I wasn’t. Not. I’m not. Struggling, that is. I’m not struggling. Sir.”

Professor Flitwick beams despite Harry’s babbling (or perhaps because of?). “Oh, very good, Mister Potter! May I see a demonstration?”

Knowing he’s getting off easy, Harry obliges, closing his padlock and reopening it with barely a whisper and twitch of his hand. Their professor claps with approval.

“Excellent, excellent, well done, and the rest of you?” He asks, looking to the Slytherins at large.

Without hesitation, Harry’s housemates show that they can cast _Alohomora_ too. The heavy, simultaneous clicking is satisfying as it echoes through the classroom. Professor Flitwick looks overjoyed.

After giving congratulations, he bounces back to his desk and moves the class on to the next and final charm.

“ _Spongify_ ,” he announces, looking around at them all. “Can anyone tell me the name for this incantation? Yes, Mister Goldstein?”

“The Softening Charm, I believe, sir,” a boy with dark eyes and blonde hair swooped to one side responds.

“You are correct, five points to Ravenclaw! And can anyone show me the movement, yes, Mister…?”

“Goyle,” Greg grunts, waving his wand in a wiggly pattern. “It’s like a snake.”

“Indeed, it is! Take five points for Slytherin. Do we all feel confident practicing this on our padlocks? If you do it right, the metal should squish a little when you poke it. Yes? Have at it!”

They do, the sensation of Harry’s finger sinking into solid metal doing weird things to his brain.

Professor Flitwick again makes the rounds as different pronunciations of the incantation are used. One of the Ravenclaw girls with bobbed, black hair swaying along her narrow jaw tries to test her charm’s success by dropping it on the desk. Whatever magic she did, however, most certainly did _not_ have a softening effect. On the contrary, when she drops it, it crashes through the wood surface and topples to the floor with a clattering _THUNK_.

“Remember class,” Professor Flitwick says, hurrying over to the red-cheeked girl and the source of the students’ startled attention. He repairs the desk as he approaches. “It’s best pronounced, spun-ji-fye. _Spongify_. If you need any clarification, I’ll be happy to help.”

Harry elbows Draco’s arm when the boy sniggers not so discretely at the unfortunate girl’s mortification. Amusement cut off, Draco glares at Harry who glares right back.

“Don’t be mean,” Harry mutters. “She’s already embarrassed, you don’t need to make it worse.”

Draco’s face morphs into a very put-on expression that annoys Harry all over again. “You’re being a Hufflepuff, Harry. She’s fine.”

Harry doesn’t shift. “She _will_ be with practice. No need to laugh at her for getting it wrong the first time.”

“Whatever,” Draco says again, going back to poking the malleable edges of his padlock. Harry drops it, not willing to anger Draco over someone he’s never even spoken to.

Their double period wraps up with Professor Flitwick awarding the students a point each for working so hard. He then proceeds to assign them a half-meter-long essay detailing the theory behind the three charms they practiced in class, as well as their uses and limits. While they’re packing up, Blaise grumbles about how unnecessary it is for those who are familiar with the charms to do so much work. Harry has to agree, especially since he’s read the whole book. The Ravenclaws probably have too, come to think of it. Nevertheless, it’s not worth arguing about at this point. Maybe in the future when they demonstrate they know a majority of their curriculum, Professor Flitwick be more lenient. Or give them more difficult spells to try. That would be nice.

The Ravens go along their way, walking with heads together to review their timetable. Harry and the other Slytherins gather off to the side, away from the clusters of Second Year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs entering the Charms room.

“Where should we go first?” Tracey asks the group, examining her map. Running along the side is a list of all the floors and towers in the castle. They need only tap the end of their wand against the floor they desire to view before the map reveals its details and whatever staircases branch off it. It’s rather ingenious.

“Why don’t we start at the seventh floor and work our way down?” Harry suggests, unwilling to be too obvious about his intentions. There are two specific floors he wishes to know every detail of. One is the library’s main entrance on the first floor; the other the second floor where the opening to the Chamber of Secrets is supposed to be. He hides a shiver that ripples from his skull and across his shoulders, thinking of the diary hidden away in a room in his trunk’s concealed flat. When he eventually makes it to the Chamber, he may leave the diary there where no one can find it and where Harry isn’t taunted by its presence. (He steadfastly ignores the part of him that desperately wants to keep the boy in the pages close by).

“Good idea,” Daphne says, looking over Tracey’s shoulder. “The Astronomy Tower is in the middle of the castle. I can’t imagine we want to go to the North end where the Divination Tower and Gryffindor Common Room are.”

“Gross,” Pansy cuts in, running combing fingers through her tresses. “No way am I taking Divination third year if we have to go by _them_ all the time. I bet it reeks of wet cat whenever it rains.”

Blaise chortles at her. “As if any of us will be studying that fortune-telling drivel, Pans. As it is, I’m curious to see the West Tower, myself.”

“The owlery?” Milli questions.

“And the nearby Ravenclaw Tower,” Blaise winks at her. “I heard they don’t require a password to gain entry. All those ravens just sitting there, unprotected in their roost.”

“Bird Brain,” Vince teases, sending the rest of them into titters.

“Come on,” Tracey says, leading them towards the hall of staircases.

After some confusion and too many steps later, they arrive, panting, on the seventh floor.

“Thank Merlin we only have to come up here once a week,” Milli says, trying to hide how out of breath she is.

Harry commiserates, feeling queasy as his head spins. Next to him, Draco scrunches his eyes closed, head sagging in a very un-pureblood gesture. “I am so glad the owls can come down to the Great Hall, or I’d never send another letter,” the blond manages to say in an even voice.

“You should complain to your father, Draco,” Theo says, earning a few huffed laughs from the others as they all finally recover enough to follow the map’s directions towards the entrance to the Astronomy Tower.

“I just might,” Draco says, eyes narrowed testily.

They stop at the end of the Astronomy Corridor where the door to the tower’s stairs has a sign on it that says, ‘CLOSED OUTSIDE OF CLASS HOURS’. Draco sneers at the sign. “You’re telling me coming up here was a complete _waste_?”

“Not a _complete_ waste, Draco, dear,” Tracey says, dragging him by the arm over to a pair of peaked windows. “Just look at this view!”

Near the top of the tallest tower in the castle, they’re afforded a spectacular view of half the castle and its grounds. The quidditch pitch off in the distance to their left sits at the base of sloped hills that evolve into mountains beyond them. Not too far away, the Forbidden Forest begins and stretches far to the horizon. The right edge of it wraps around the end of the viaduct that they can just barely see peeking around the Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry presses closer to the glass, peering down at the courtyard far below them. His mind strays, wondering what it would feel like if he jumped from this height, or even better- from the top of the tower. Would it be like diving on his broom? Wind stealing his breath away as his eyes strain to absorb any passing details, finding only blurs of color and the rapidly approaching ground below? If he wished hard enough, would his magic pull him up and away until he floated over the castle grounds? Or would he just fall, feeling nothing when he—

“That’s a hideous painting.”

Harry startles, finding himself standing with his friends down a new corridor somewhere in front of a painting where a man is trying to teach massive, hideous humanoids how to dance ballet. Harry’s leaden mind, still trying to catch up to the change in his scenery, drugs up the memory of creatures called trolls.

“Really?” Daphne questions, tapping her chin in thought. “I think it’s rather impressive. Look at the detail here in the trolls’ tutus. That style of artwork is reminiscent of the—”

“Alright, alright, no need for a history lesson, Daphne, save it for the Art Club,” Terrence cuts in, tugging her away from the painting and towards the stairs.

Daphne starts to bicker with him, Tracey adding her own support. Harry drags his feet at the back of the group in a daze, wondering how they could have possibly left the window and walked a fair distance without his noticing.

“You alright?” Theo’s quiet voice is a balm on Harry’s bleary agitation.

“’M fine,” he answers, head aching with the effort to stay focused on his surroundings. “Are we going to the sixth floor now?”

Theo eyes him, likely interpreting far more than Harry is comfortable with. He thankfully doesn’t press. “I believe so. There isn’t much else up here we need to see.”

“Neither is there on the sixth floor,” Blaise interrupts, appearing in the blink of an eye, sidling up on Harry’s other side. “There’s the Ancient Runes and Ancient Studies classrooms on the sixth floor and the Art classroom on the Fifth. Fourth floor is even more boring, the library reaches there but I’ve been told it’s solely the Restricted Section and we’re prohibited from there for now.”

“You’re suggesting we skip down to the third?” Terrence questions.

“Let’s see,” Pansy ruminates. “Third floor… looks like the DADA, Arithmancy, and Ghoul Studies classrooms are all down the Serpentine Corridor by Charms. There’s the Armor Gallery and nearby Trophy Room too.”

“Might as well go by the Defense classroom,” Terrence says, glaring at a couple Gryffindors perched in a window ledge, whispering behind their hands. “ _Tempus_. We still have thirty minutes until lunch.”

They retrace their steps and descend to the third floor, venturing down the hall opposite the Charms Corridor. The presence of Theo and Blaise at his sides makes it easier for Harry to stay aware, his muddled thoughts eventually fading to a controllable murmur. He shakes away niggling thought that his behavior had been quite out of his ordinary, chalking it up to first-day anxiety.

“What’s in there?” Greg speaks up when they pass an open doorway, seeing light reflecting off objects in splashes of rainbow along the stone walls. The room has tree-like columns with branches that slope towards the low ceiling and nearly all the floor is taken up by various gold, bronze, and silver trophies or massive glass-doored wardrobes.

Blaise flicks the top of a pointed gold award, watching the oblong figure wobble. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this is the Trophy Room.”

“Clever deduction, Sherlock,” Pansy snarks, slinking out of the way when Blaise aims another flick at her arm.

“Oh! Mother and Father’s Head Student badges should be in here,” Draco says, instantly going on the hunt for the right display.

“Merlin, Draco, can you go thirty seconds without mentioning your parents? Mother and Father this, Mother and Father that, Mother and Fath- hey!”

Terrence rubs his leg where Draco’s Stinging Hex hit. “Your jealousy is showing, Terrence. I know my parents are better than yours, but—”

“ _Better!?_ Why you pasty, little—”

“Found them, Draco.”

Terrence blusters when Draco forgets about him in a heartbeat, eager to join Daphne in front of a wardrobe containing the past century’s worth of Head Boy and Head Girl badges. Harry wanders over, spotting the names LUCIUS MALFOY and NARCISSA BLACK etched in gold on polished badges a year apart from one another.

Dozens of other rows for each year show the legacy of some of the best students ever to wander the castle’s halls in recent history. He traces the badges down until two names in the 1977-1978 school year make his heart stutter.

LILY EVANS

JAMES POTTER

“Mum and Dad?”

His voice catches on the whispered words that are swallowed by the sudden silence of the room. Draco presses against his side, attention leaving his own parents’ awards for Harry’s. He takes a moment to deliberate before speaking, glancing at Harry before back at the badges.

“No one really mentions what good students they were,” Draco says. “The books don’t specify, and I don’t think many of their former classmates speak about it.”

“Of course not,” Harry says, voice oddly flat. “They weren’t heroes then, were they? They weren’t important until they died.”

An emotion he can’t name is brewing in a cold pit in his chest and he’s worried that if he talks about his parents anymore, he’ll invoke the wrath of whatever beast is riling inside him.

Through the reflection in the glass, he can see his friends trade glances behind his back. Draco turns to face him directly. “Harry, I’m sure that’s not—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, cutting Draco off with a brittle smile. “It’s fine.”

He ignores Draco’s staring and the awkward atmosphere his comments have created, eyes straying further up the rows of badges until, for the second time, a name emblazoned on a badge makes his heart jump.

TOM RIDDLE

_Could it be?_

Harry steps closer, hand pressed against the glass as he cranes his neck and eyes to read what year Tom Riddle was Head Boy, not daring to believe it’s who he thinks it is.

T.M. Riddle started Hogwarts in 1938 and would have been a Seventh Year, a Head Boy, during the school year of—

1944-1945.

The breath Harry’d been holding punches out of him in a woosh that fogs up the glass centimeters away from his nose.

T.M. Riddle.

Tom Riddle.

Lord Voldemort.

_He’s found his real name._

“If you’re trying to practice your snogging skills, Harry, I’m sure we can find a much better partner than the glass there.”

Vince and Greg snicker at Blaise’s sarcastic offer, but Harry’s mind is stuck on the boy he knew who’d suffered all his life at the hands of muggles and wizards alike, never fully a part of either world, always ostracized or under heavy fire. _Literally_. The summer after his second year was spent in the orphanage under constant threat of being bombed or pierced with bullets as the Blitz tore the world apart around him.

It was a wonder Tom Riddle had amounted to anything, let alone Head Boy.

_What had happened to turn him into—_

“Shut it, Zabini.”

Blaise chuckles at Theo’s annoyance. “Ah, Theo, how kind of you to volunteer yourself. Hear that, Harry? You have your first partner right here.”

Harry pulls away from the display at last, facing the interaction going on behind him. He hasn’t comprehended a word they’ve been saying and is bewildered to find Theo on the verge of cursing Blaise into next week as everyone else eagerly watches from either side of the boys.

“What are you guys going on about?” He asks, blinking at Draco when he starts to guffaw.

Draco leers at him, putting a hand on his back to steer him out of the room. “Theo and Blaise were comparing wands, nothing to worry about. Let’s explore the rest of the floor then we’ll go to lunch.”

Harry goes willingly, shaking off his confusion to think over the Trophy Room’s revelations.

Who cares that his parents had been Head Boy and Girl? Plenty of students are. So what if they’d been good people even before they were heralded heroes for giving up their lives to save their son’s? So what if they’d been good students, people others looked up to- had been respected?

Merlin, they’d had so much _potential_ …

And yet, in a single night, another ambitious boy years before their time ripped it all away.

Because of Harry. Because he’d been alive. If he hadn’t been, then they could have escaped, they could have lived, they could have—

“The Defense classroom is over here,” Mill points out, gesturing to an open doorway halfway down the corridor. A man’s voice, presumably Professor Quirrell’s, filters through the hallway, the words indecipherable.

“Great, we found it, let’s move on,” Blaise says, hands in pockets and hip slouched. “I have no desire to be told off by Quirrell.”

“He can’t be mad,” Vince frowns. “We’re on break.”

Blaise tilts an ear towards a shrugged shoulder. “I’ve heard weird things about the man. I don’t much fancy finding out how he’ll react to a group of Slytherins hanging around while he’s teaching.”

The rest of them murmur their unanimous, begrudging agreement. They find the Arithmancy and Ghoul Studies classrooms further down the same corridor along with another door Greg opens to find a room filled with boxes of dusty and chipped wands. On their way back to the stairs, they pass through the Armor gallery, eyeing the polished suits of armor stationed on one side between tall, peaked windows letting streams of sunlight in.

The swiveling staircase deposits them on a platform for an antechamber that opens up into a high-ceilinged, purple carpeted foyer. A blonde haired Hufflepuff girl sits with two others at a table near one of the four archways leading to other corridors.

“The second-floor foyer,” Tracey announces, stopping Greg from knocking into a blue, ribbed vase on a nearby pedestal. “The Gargoyle Corridor is down there, that’s where the entrance to Dumbledore’s office is.”

“And that’s where we’re not going,” Draco says, scowling at the hallway Tracey gestured to. “I’m not stepping one foot closer to that place if I can help it.”

Harry doesn’t miss the wicked bemusement in Tracey’s eyes, even as she pushes on. “Then we can go down the Second-Floor Corridor there. The other two don’t have anything interesting.”

Pansy suddenly squeals, startling the Hufflepuffs who follow their procession with wide eyes. “This is where the haunted lavatory is, isn’t it?”

Harry’s focus narrows. It couldn’t be the same loo, could it? The entrance to the Chamber is supposed to be a secret…

“The one with the ghost?” Terrence frowns. “What’s her name? Mourning-something?”

“ _Moaning_ Myrtle, I believe it is,” Daphne corrects.

“She was a student,” Pansy continues, practically skipping as they make their way towards their destination. “Killed in the 1940s, or so the rumor goes.”

“How’d she die?” Harry asks, attention pinned on the doors they stop in front of, scowling at the ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign hanging from the handles. He bites his lip in consternation. Nowhere had the diary mention this was a ghost’s haunting grounds! Did Moaning Myrtle show up after Riddle’s time at Hogwarts? Maybe so, seeing as Riddle was a student for only half of the 1940's.

“No one knows,” Pansy giggles, a tad too eager considering the topic. “But she hasn’t left this loo since. Used to scare the magic out of girls by popping out of the toilet. The staff finally decided to close the whole thing off.”

“Huh,” Harry grunts, desperately wanting to go inside.

Blaise’s goading breaks him out of those rash thoughts. “First Morag MacDougal and now Moaning Myrtle. You sure have weird taste, Harry.”

Harry scowls at him, ignoring the others’ laughs. “I do _not_ fancy either of them, thank you _very_ much.”

“Oh sorry,” Blaise chuckles, not sounding at all unapologetic. “It was Professor Flitwick, wasn’t it?”

That sets off more peals of amusement and Harry doesn’t care how uncouth it is to roll his eyes. “You’re all ridiculous,” he says, deadpan in the face of their antics.

“Your starry eyes say otherwise,” Blaise rags, finally relenting when he brushes past Harry back in the direction of the foyer. “There’s nothing else on this floor. Let’s go down.”

“Yes,” Draco suddenly drawls, turning a sly grin on Harry. “Someone’s been dying to see the library since he heard about it.”

What is this, _Pick on Harry Day?_

“Haven’t been _dying_ ,” he replies, petulant about Draco revealing his unsubtle secret. “Just curious.”

“Oh, well then we must go!” Blaise announces, spinning back to put his arm around Harry’s shoulders and steer him through the foyer to the stairs. “What The Chosen One wants, The Chosen One gets!”

“Oi!” Harry complains, swatting at Blaise in retaliation for the manhandling and teasing. When Blaise shows no sign of letting go, he relents, scowling the whole way. There are more students on this floor, trailing through the corridor in front of the library. Unsurprisingly, many of those dressed in red glare at the Slytherin First Years as they pass, whereas Hufflepuffs, even a group of older ones, scurry past like a dragon is on their heels.

“Morons,” Theo murmurs when one distracted Badger eeps the moment he realizes he’s fallen behind the safety of his group and is in close proximity to Snakes.

“I rather like it,” Pansy says, strutting with confidence. Draco’s right next to her looking like one of his father’s proud peacocks, not that Harry’s going to be the one to tell him that. “They should be terrified of us.”

Harry disagrees. Impressed, yes. Awed and intimidated by? Absolutely. But _terrified_? Terror isn’t nearly as useful as having one’s respect.

It certainly never buttered him up to Uncle Vernon.

When they stand at the entrance to the library, the timeless smell of pressed paper, aging wood, and sun-warmed furniture is all Harry needs to know he’s found his home away from the dorms.

Draco notices and sighs dramatically. “I was afraid this would happen. We’ve lost him.”

Blaise squeezes Harry closer to his side, clapping him on the chest with his other hand. “Now, Harry, you have five minutes until we leave, and not a moment longer, understand, young man?”

“Shove off,” Harry snaps at Blaise, the corner of his mouth upturned against his will. Blaise is annoyingly amusing when he wants to be.

“Of course, My Liege, my apologies!” He backs off only to bow down and place his hands out, palm-up in offering. “Please, allow me to carry your books to demonstrate my sincerest regret and unworthiness!”

Harry scowls at the attention their group is garnering from students and the stern looking woman behind the nearby counter. Thankfully, Theo comes to his rescue. “Harry knows _Wingardium Leviosa_ , Blaise, he doesn’t need your help.”

“Oh, but I _insist_ ,” Blaise croons, a glint in his eyes as he faces off against the sandy-haired boy.

Harry puts an end to the staring contest. “Cut it out. I’m not getting anything right now. I’ll come back later.”

Draco’s groan is drowned out by Tracey’s enthusiasm. “I’ll come with you! Our textbooks are dreadfully boring, I want to read next year’s books if they have them.”

“The librarian looks like she’s about to eviscerate us,” Milli warns. They’re still technically in the corridor, but even that appears to be too close for the woman’s tolerance. “We should move on if we’re not going to get any books.”

They find the Muggle Studies and History of Magic classrooms, though they don’t linger there either. After passing offices and more empty classrooms, they come across large double doors. One is open, revealing a sunny, cavernous room with beds lined up on either wall with partitions stowed near each bedside cabinet.

“The Hospital Wing,” Daphne helpfully supplies.

Harry slinks to the back of the group, suddenly finding the corridor’s windows incredibly fascinating.

“This will be easy to find when we do our medical exams,” Milli remarks.

“It’s offensive Severus is requiring us to go through such an ordeal,” Draco sniffs. “As if any of us Slytherins aren’t in peak physical condition.”

Harry thinks he’s the only one to notice how Theo looks down at his feet, shuffling in discomfort. Harry knows the behavior well, having trained himself out of such telling mannerisms long ago. It makes his stomach squirm thinking about the reasoning for Theo’s behavior.

“Professor Snape is following protocol,” Daphne assuages, taking point in leading them back towards the stairs.

“The other Heads don’t require their Houses to go through examinations,” Draco argues, sneering at a group of Ravenclaws they pass on the staircase.

“Quit whining, Draco,” Blaise drawls. “You are up to date on shots and have never in your life had a boo-boo for more than ten seconds before your mummy fixed it. You will be in and out of there in five minutes.”

Draco is not appeased. “It’s the principle of it!”

“Principle of what?” A perky voice asks from their left. The Slytherins turn to find Fay bounding across the Entrance Hall from a corridor Harry and the others had yet to explore. Behind her, other Gryffindor and Ravenclaw First Years emerge, some with smears of dirt clinging to their disgruntled expressions and rumbled robes.

“Nothing,” Draco immediately says, back snapping out of his slouch.

“Oh, don’t be that way, Draco!” Fay coos, swooping forward and looping her arm through Draco’s, much to his disgruntlement. Unrepentant, she grins at the rest of them. “Did you all see? Friday afternoon is our first flying lesson- all First Years have it together!”

“You already know how to fly!” Draco hisses, trying to reclaim his arm.

“Yeah, but these lessons are our only chance to fly all year!” Fay says, eyes wide. “Plus, the muggleborns haven’t flown before.”

Draco ceases his efforts, a smirk curling across his face. “You’re right,” he purrs. “Perhaps we’ll have a spot of fun after all.”

A new, haughty voice joins the conversation. “That’s mean of you to say! It’s not our fault we haven’t had any chance to practice flying!”

Granger. Harry internally groans, already exhausted by the exchange that’s about to occur.

Draco doesn’t disappoint. “And it’s not our fault that we’ve had plenty,” he says, inflated with superiority.

Granger plants her hands on her hips, ignoring the annoyed looks she’s receiving for causing a scene. “It’s still not nice. You should care about how we feel!”

“All I care about right now is eating,” Terrence interrupts, much to Harry’s relief. “If you’ll excuse us…”

They step around Granger, joining the lunch rush streaming into the Great Hall. Harry hears a harumph behind them and ignores it, settling into his seat, once more between Draco and Blaise. At some point, Draco had successfully detached his Gryffindor escort. Harry looks up, finding an annoyed Fay sitting across from a worked-up Granger.

“Bet Fay’s regretting becoming a Gryffindor right about now,” Pansy sniggers, deciding which sandwich she should take from the communal platter on the table. “Can you imagine having to share a dorm with that mudblood for the next seven years?”

The air pressure abruptly drops as their entire group besides Harry sucks in their breath. Harry falters in taking a sip from his glass, unsure as to why they’re all staring aghast at Pansy.

“Keep your voice down, you fool!” Daphne scolds in a threatening hiss. “Saying that word in the Great Hall of all places, are you mad?”

Pansy lifts her chin, standing her ground with a scoff. “No one was listening.”

“On the contrary.”

Farley appears out of thin air behind Pansy, startling the girl into an undignified squeak. Her bravado dissipates, meek now that someone of authority is telling her off. “Someone is always listening, Parkinson. Do not say that word in public again.”

Harry is still confused as he watches Pansy gulp, the rest of them tense and waiting to hear if points will be removed or another punishment mete out. They're all surprised when Farley glares at them down her nose a moment longer then gives a parting order. “Find Marcus and I when you’re done eating. We will take you to Transfiguration.”

After receiving their confirmation and giving Pansy a lasting, pointed look, Farley joins her fellow Fifth Years near the other end of the table.

Tracey opens her mouth to say something only to be shut down when Pansy snaps, “Don’t. Don’t say it!”

“I was just going to ask if you could please pass the pumpkin juice,” Tracey says, voice high with innocence and amusement.

“Sure you were,” Pansy grumbles, nonetheless handing over the pumpkin juice pitcher.

Harry leans closer to Draco, speaking without moving his lips. “What did Pansy say wrong, Draco?”

Draco takes a measured sip of his water before he replies, shuttered eyes scanning their surroundings to make sure he’s not overheard. “‘Mudblood’,” he starts, pronouncing the word with care. “Is a slur for someone of muggleborn descent.”

Harry’s head tilts. A slur? Like the bad n-word that Petunia always scolded Vernon for using around Dudley? Is it really that bad? He tries to fit this new m-word in with what he knows of the wizarding world. He knows of purebloods and half-bloods, but mudblood? “Mud like _mud_ , mud?”

Draco nods, not meeting his eyes. “Dirty blood.”

The residue of juice becomes sour on Harry’s palette. Pansy thinks Hermione has dirty blood? It’s something she has no control over, so why does it bother Pansy? Wait, but Harry’s mother was a muggleborn, a… mudblood. Does that mean Harry is too? Under his lashes, he studies his friends, reanalyzing all interactions he’s had with them. Have they always thought of him as having dirty blood, that he’s dirty?

Were the Dursleys right all along when the called him a filthy, disgusting brat?

Are his friends only tolerating him because he’s famous? It would be the Slytherin thing to do.

He’s barely aware when lunch finishes and the prefects bring them through the crowded Entrance Hall to a high-ceilinged corridor that has glassless windows on one side, the September wind teasing their cloaks and rustling the leaves of a canopied tree domineering the middle of the stretch of grass crisscrossed with stone paths.

Harry barely feels the breeze, he’s too numb.

“That is the Transfiguration Courtyard,” Flint tells them before turning to an open door halfway down the corridor. “This is Room One B, the Transfiguration classroom. Farley and I will be in double Runes next, so a couple other Slytherins will meet you here to take you to Defense.”

“We know where the classroom is,” Terrence speaks up. “We went by earlier.”

Flint and Farley exchange a glance, having a silent discussion before coming to a decision.

“Fine,” Farley says. She steps forward, peering into the classroom before stepping back and giving them a look that says, ‘shut up and pay attention’. Naturally, they do, Harry’s eyes unable to lift above their shoes. “Remember, someone is always watching.”

Behind her, Flint’s face twitches, almost as if aborting a grin at the last moment. “Don’t wander on your way to Defense,” he warns, the two of them stalking off through the throngs of students.

The First Years enter the classroom, leaving behind the voices echoing around the corridor and courtyard. The classroom is impressive, the most spacious one they’ve encountered so far. It scales two levels, columns lining the first level below windows that creep up towards the vaulted ceiling. The afternoon light streaming in highlights the three rows of tables facing a slightly raised platform where a desk, wardrobe, chalkboard, and braced mirror reside.

What catches their attention most, though, is the mottled grey and white cat perched on the desk. Immediately, Harry knows something is off. There’s magic idling over the cat’s body, like a bubble that clings to its fur. He’s never encountered anything like that with Daisy or any other animals.

He _has_ felt it with other people, especially adult witches and wizards.

_Someone is always watching._

It’s not possible… is it?

A flicker of interest beats back the cloud hovering over him.

Harry sits next to Tracey and observes the Ravenclaws’ curious looks when they enter a minute later. Unlike the Slytherins sitting silently, the Ravens indulge in small chatter, wondering such things as where the professor is, what her cat’s name might be, and what spells they’re going to learn first.

“She’s late,” Greg grunts after another couple minutes pass and the students start to get restless.

Harry bites his lip, looking back to the cat who still hasn’t moved, strongly resembling a statue if it weren’t for its blinking blue eyes. It takes him a moment to notice the peculiar oval markings around the cat’s eyes. They almost look like spectacles.

“She’s not late,” he chunters before he can stop himself. Stupid, stupid! Nobody wants to hear anything from his sullied mouth!

Yet none of the other students make a disparaging comment, rather they heed his word and glance around with bewildered expressions. It’s Tracey who follows his gaze and connects the dots. “How do you…. Oh! Obviously. Of course the Transfiguration professor is an Animagus.”

The magic surrounding the cat fluctuates at Tracey's words, pulsing for a moment before the cat leaps forward, transforming in a confusing blur until Professor McGonagall stands in front of the class.

“One point to Slytherin,” she says, cool as can be, the complete opposite to the gob smacked looks the Ravens and a few Slytherins sport.

Harry exhales a shaky breath. He was right? He was right! He hadn’t been an idiot! His stomach unclenches, tension released the longer nobody yells at him for being daft.

“How did you do that?” the Ravenclaw Patil twin cries out, voicing what so many of them are wondering.

Professor McGonagall tilts her head, hands clasping in front of her. “As Miss Davis observed, those truly devoted to the art of Transfiguration might one day achieve the ability to transform into their magic-chosen Animagus form.”

Excited exclamations ripple over the students. Another Ravenclaw girl Harry can’t remember the name of speaks up, sitting forward in eagerness. “When will we learn how to do that?”

“Miss Li, yes?” Professor McGonagall asks, peering over the spectacles that indeed mirror the markings around her feline form. “Transforming oneself into their Magic-chosen Animagus animal is one of highest levels of Transfiguration. You will not explore the subject in depth until your seventh year. For the few of you that might succeed in completing the process, you will be required to register your form with the Ministry.” Her voice drops with the severity of the topic. “Failure to do so will result in fines and time in Azkaban. Attempting the transformation as a minor outside of a monitored classroom setting will result in fines and the high likelihood of injury. Many have suffered permanent deformities or lost limbs attempting the process on their own. Do not be one of them.”

The room simmers with her warning until curiosity gets the better of Terry. “How did you learn, Professor?”

Professor McGonagall straightens. “Under Headmaster Dumbledore’s tutelage when he was the Transfiguration professor.”

“Is he an Animagus too?” Terry presses.

“That I cannot tell you, Mister Boot. I do not know myself.”

Despite the professor’s lack of hesitation when she responds, Harry doubts her answer. She was Dumbledore’s student and now his second-in-command; there’s little chance he hasn’t revealed himself to be an Animagus. And when one considers the power Dumbledore’s renowned for, as well as the fact that he _used to be the_ _transfiguration professor_ , there’s no way he isn’t capable of the ability.

He is curious though, as to what the man’s form might be and why he’s gone to such lengths to keep it a secret. _If_ he has one.

“Transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall’s voice rings out across the room. “Is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn throughout your education. This class is not a testing ground for your fanciful experiments. If I catch someone attempting a transformation I deem inappropriate, they will leave and not come back. Am I clear?”

Wisely, they all give their consenting agreement. Their attitude may change as they learn more, but for now, anything other than acquiescence is too daunting to consider when the Deputy Headmistress is looking at them like that.

Her shoulders roll back, composed and relaxed as she carries on. “Transfiguration, like Charms, requires concentration, proper pronunciation, and precise wand movement. When attempting a transformation, there are five elements one must consider. Bodyweight, represented by the variable, a; Viciousness, v; Wand Power, w; Concentration, c; and a fifth unknown variable we refer to as z. These are the factors that make up the Transformation Formula, the foundation of Transfiguration.”

Her wand taps against the chalkboard and the Formula, along with the elements she just listed, appear in bright green lettering. With a pointed look, the students scramble to write everything down. Harry paraphrases, having memorized the Formula and the factors already.

McGonagall continues, adding more symbols along the top of the board that she informs them to be the Transfiguration alphabet, which translates to each of the twenty-six characters in the English alphabet. The higher levels of their curriculum will uncover how the remaining letters pertain to the theory of Transfiguration, for the time being though, they’re only working with the five in the basic formula.

As the scratching of quills fills the room, McGonagall turns back to her desk and waits until she has their full attention once more. “Even when all elements are applied correctly, a transformation becomes more difficult the larger the objects and the greater the difference between them. For example, a wood desk into a live swine.”

With a practiced swish of her wand, the desk before her morphs until a rotund, spotted pig appears on the platform, snorting for its impressed audience. Another wand gesture, and the pig turns back into its original form. The excitement in the room makes the air crackle, that is, until Professor McGonagall informs them that furniture-into-animal transfiguration is not covered until their third year.

She does however, hand out a box of matches, assigning them the task of transforming a single match into a metal needle then back into to its original form by the end of class.

Harry accepts the matchbox from Tracey, picking one match and passing the rest back to Vince behind him. Around him, the class begins to practice the incantation and Harry faces down the inconspicuous fragment of wood on his desk, commanding it to obey him when he flicks his wand and says the incantation, “ _Acri Metallum_ ”.

A gleaming, meter-long sword grows and stretches across the desk, missing impaling Harry by centimeters. As it is, the razor-sharp metal slices his forearm when he blocks Tracey’s arm from the approaching acute edge, his friend too slow to react.

No, no, no, no, no! Tracey’s startlement and his pained hiss draw the room’s attention and Professor McGonagall is at their side in an instant, assessing the situation. Harry hides his arm under the table, unable to meet the professor’s eyes, cursing himself for his idiocy. With a desperate thought, he heals the cut and clears away the blood he can feel trailing across his skin. He repairs the torn fabric of his clothes, next, removing all evidence of injury and reason for uncomfortable questioning. He needs to get her to leave, she shouldn’t be around him, he’ll contaminate her.

“Mister Potter, care to explain this?” McGonagall’s tone is stiff and leaves no room for a floundering response.

“I used a bit too much power and viciousness,” he offers, giving the answer she likely expects.

“I’d say more than ‘a bit’, mate!” Terry calls out, making the class laugh. Harry swallows back the bile that creeps forth at his humiliation in front of the class.

McGonagall on the other hand gives Terry a sharp side-glance that makes him straighten up and the rest of the students quiet down. Her mouth is pressed thin when she turns back to Harry. “Your observation is correct, Mister Potter.” She waves her wand, and the sword shrinks and morphs back into a match. “Once more, this time with consideration for all five elements of the formula.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, cheeks aflame. With a measuring breath, he ignores all the eyes in the room and studies the match before him. He takes note of the darker swirls in the wood, the smooth ridges where it was cut to shape, and the tackiness of the red tip. He then pictures a sewing needle, remembering every detail he can of what the burnished metal looks like, from its sharp point to the narrow eye.

Without taking his eyes off the match, he swipes his wand sharply to the right and mutters the incantation, keeping a tight rein on his magic.

On the desk, the match’s tan wood melts into silver-gray; the edges polishing off as the length elongates and melts into the appropriate ends. When the needle settles, Harry laughs in short, relieved huff, feeling pride suffuse through him despite his fear.

His professor cuts off his success. “You’re halfway done, Mister Potter. Reverse the transformation.”

Harry nods, preparing himself. Reversing his thinking process, he utters, “ _Flintifor_ ,” over the moon when the needle turns back into a match.

“An improvement,” Professor McGonagall remarks. Harry beams up at her and she clears her throat pulling her emerald green tartan closer around her, moving off between the rows of desks. “The rest of you, get back to it.”

“Well done, Harry,” Tracey whispers.

Harry grins at her with careful hope, face now flushed from the praise rather than his earlier turmoil. He did well? He can’t have, can he? She must be lying. But no, she’s gone back to her own match, achieving a half transformation as one end stubbornly remains red and rounded.

His attention drifts back to his needle, trying the transformation again and again, achieving the desired result with each attempt.

Yes! _He could do this_! Maybe he is good after all! His magic can’t be too filthy if it was able to complete such a clean, Light feat. He’ll show his housemates that he’s capable, that he’s not just some dirty mudblood!

He’ll prove it.

He has to.

***

“D-d-d-defense against th-the D-d-dark Arts is a s-s-skill you will ne-need your entire life.”

Harry’s quill pierces through his parchment, his aggravated pants making the edges flutter.

Why. _Why is this man a professor!?_

Harry damns Dumbledore and Quirrell with all the curse words he knows, the only distraction he has from the throbbing headache that’s gradually developed behind his eyes since stepping foot in the Defense classroom.

At first, he’d been excited for the class. Upon crossing the door, he’d felt the most peculiar, all-consuming need to be close to the professor. Without thought, he’d sped towards the empty seats in the front row, a confused and annoyed Draco trailing after him with the other chagrined Slytherins occupying the tables around them.

Now, fifteen agonizing minutes later, Draco’s muttering about the stench of garlic, the room’s overall stuffiness, and the man’s unfortunate stutter has worn down Harry’s initial eagerness. The bizarre inner demand to pay attention to the man is still there, pulling at him insistently, but his irritation has overwritten anything else. Now all he wants is to leave.

“N-now, we will be covering s-s-subjects r-ranging f-from the his-s-story of the s-s-subject to creatures.”

“Forgive me, sir,” a far-too familiar voice cuts in through the thick air. “But are you saying we are only going to be doing theory in this class?”

“M-m-miss Granger,” Professor Quirrell turns to her, head and neck moving stiffly under the weight of his turban. “As F-f-first Years, it is n-n-not n-n-neces-s-sary for you to be f-f-familiar with m-more advanced m-methods of d-d-defense. I pres-s-sume you are ups-s-set by this?”

Granger’s eyes widen in stirred vehemence. “Oh no, Professor! Not at all!”

A scoff and mutter are heard across the room from one of the red-robed boys. “Course she’s not, doesn’t have to lift her nose from her book, does she?”

In the dim room, it’s difficult to see the rosy hue Granger’s cheeks take at the teasing comment, yet her head remains high, eyes pinned on Professor Quirrell who frowns over at Weasley as if unsure whether he should punish him.

“Um, y-yes, well, g-good, M-m-miss Granger,” the man goes for instead, a weak smile breaking apart before it even forms fully on his face. “T-today we will be covering th-the history be-behind the clas-s-s’s name.”

He turns back to the chalkboard situated next to his desk and for the rest of the double period, proceeds to explain when Dark Arts was removed as a core class in Hogwarts’s curriculum and how the Defense class became Defense Against the Dark Arts. The lecture is predictably tedious. Broken speech aside, writing with quills for two hours is enough to put anyone in a foul mood.

As a frustrating addition, Harry comes to realize that the man is absolutely _refusing_ to make eye contact with him, not even look in his direction, which is quite impressive considering he’s sitting front and center. The worst part, however, escapes all reasonable explanation, for each time the man presents his back, Harry feels the phantom sensation of someone gripping his lapel and yanking him forward towards his professor. It makes no sense, and the actual lack of physical force disorients Harry.

By the time they’re dismissed, a miserable Harry lets Draco usher him outside, switching between massaging the cramps out of his right hand and the knots of tension in his temples.

“We are never _ever_ sitting that close to that man again, Harry, do you hear me? I won’t allow it.”

Harry’s compliance comes easily. His headache— _bloody persistent headache_ —is reason enough not to investigate further into the conundrum that was his magic during Defense. He can only hope that it was a one-time thing.

“That’s the first day done with,” Pansy comments, she and the other girls stopping to wait for them. “What shall we do with our evening?”

“I have my medical in fifteen,” Milli says, dodging out of an older Ravenclaw’s way.

“Mine’s right after hers,” Tracey adds. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be; how about we meet you all in the Great Hall for dinner?”

“Sure,” Pansy shrugs, turning to the rest of them when the two girls disappear into the stream of students walking through the corridor. “Well? What should we do? Homework in the Common Room?”

“It’s going to be full of people relaxing before dinner,” Terrence counters. “And we should wait until those two are back so we can all work on the homework together.”

Pansy pouts at him. “The library, then?”

“Tracey wants to go,” Daphne counters.

“So? It’s not going anywhere,” Pansy retorts, looking exceedingly putout when Daphne’s silence declares the matter unnegotiable. “Fine. How about we explore the grounds a little bit while it’s still light outside?”

Harry perks up at that suggestion, eyes begging the others to agree. Seeing this, Draco heaves a dramatic sigh. “The kicked crup over here apparently approves, so outside it is.”

Harry falters. Was he asking too much? His friends are better than him, they should be the ones to decide where they go, not him!

They apparently disagree. Harry’s corralled along, the prospect of going outside doing an impressive job of fighting back his chagrin and ignoring the looks he’s getting from other passing students. 

They step through the Hall’s massive doors and to his immense relief, the brisk air works quickly to wash away any remnants of Professor Quirrell’s oppressive classroom with the added bonus of clearing his headache right up. He smiles, pleased when the others have a similar reaction to him.

“Should we go down to the lake?” Draco asks, holding his hand up to shield his eyes, still needing to squint to properly look at the Black Lake’s glimmering surface. Harry does the same, a quick survey of the expanse of grass revealing several groups of students sharing their idea of celebrating the end of the day outside.

“As long as we stay away from the forest,” Blaise agrees, pulling Harry’s hand down and tugging him along by the wrist.

A thought hits Harry then as he trots along to keep up with Blaise’s longer-legged pace. His friends all knew who he was and who his parents were before he met them- heck, the whole wizarding world does! Which means they knew he has muggleborn heritage, that he’s a mudblood. But that hadn’t stopped them from touching them, had it? Pats on the back, arms around his shoulders, hands on his arms- they’d touched his skin repeatedly and yet they hadn’t recoiled in disgust from touching something so filthy. Even Uncle Lucius and Aunt Cissa had touched him with gentle hands, and they of all people should not wish to do so if Harry was dirty.

The realization crashes over him and chases away the flagellation he’d been beating his self-worth with since lunch. Whatever reason they have for excusing his dirtiness, he will take it. They have never hurt him and for the sake of his bruised heart, he needs to keep the illusion alive. He’ll do anything to prove to them that he is worth their kind gestures and gentle words, that he isn’t foul. He isn’t filth.

Feeling as though he’ll float right off the grass, he throws a look over his shoulder to make sure the rest of his friends are still nearby. They are, Draco and Theo looking at Blaise with severe annoyance, the rest of them amused or tilting their head back to enjoy the sun.

Blaise brings the two of them to a halt on the lake’s shore, releasing Harry to plant his hands on his hips with a happy sigh. “This is nice,” he decides, letting his bag fall off his shoulder and thump on the ground. He gives Harry a devilish grin. “Want to go in?”

Joy aside, Harry eyes the water with mistrust. “Aren’t there mermaids and a giant squid in there?”

Blaise shrugs, balancing on one foot to remove the shoe from his other. “They’re wayyy out there, not here in the shallows. Come on, don’t worry about it, it’ll be fun!”

“It’ll be cold,” Daphne says, coming up behind them.

“And slimy,” Pansy adds, nose crinkled at Blaise who’s rolling his trouser legs up high over his bare feet.

“Like I said,” Blaise cheers, slouching his robe off and rolling up his sweater and shirt cuffs. “Fun!”

“I’m in,” Vince says, already divesting himself of his shoes.

Greg moves further back from the shore and sits down with his bag next to him. “I’m not.”

Harry gives Blaise an apologetic look and joins Greg, Theo sitting on his other side while everyone else finds a comfortable spot around them.

“Your loss!” Blaise jeers, exclaiming sharp “ooohs!” and “aaahs!” as he wades into the water. “See? Just a bit nippy. Hurry up, Vince!”

The two flounder in the shallows, cheerfully commiserating about the squishy sand beneath their feet and the chill teasing their toes.

“Don’t you dare!” Pansy shouts at them when Blaise whispers something in Vince’s ear and they look over at the seated group with twin evil grins. Their expressions quickly turn innocent when their plotting is dismantled, Vince raising his hands in a placating gesture in front of him.

“Boys,” Daphne snorts, smoothing down her skirt around her bent legs.

“Not all boys,” Terrence huffs with fake offense.

“You’re right, just the worst ones,” she sniffs, eyes narrowed at the boys in the water.

“We heard that!”

Daphne doesn’t grace Blaise with a reply.

Spirit soaring, Harry unwinds bit by bit as the banter continues. A gentle breeze rustles the trees some fifteen meters behind them, and the sun is just timid enough that its eternal fire doesn’t toast their skin beyond endurance. He leans back on his elbows, stretching his legs out, making a silly game of scrunching one eye closed and taking turns blocking Blaise and Vince from his remaining eye’s vision with his foot’s silhouette. Eventually, he remembers that he brought _Potions Theory_ with him and retrieves it from his bag to continue where he left off, an excerpt that delves into the significance behind how many times you stir the potion and in what direction.

The relaxing atmosphere continues, conversation and laughter lifting the mood until Theo’s wary voice breaches the air. “So… are we all going to ignore the creepy horse that’s been watching us for five minutes?”

Harry arches his neck to follow Theo’s gaze to the shadows of the Forbidden Forest where the strangest looking animal Harry’s ever seen is standing next to a tree, sure enough, watching them with unnatural attention.

“What horse?” Pansy asks, frowning even though she’s looking in the right direction.

Harry stares at her, befuddled, rubbernecking between her and the horse. He clambers to his knees, abandoning his book in favor of gesturing in the horse’s direction. “The horse thingy, Pansy. The horse, right there, you’re looking right at it!”

“There’s no horse over there, you two, what are you talking about?” Terrence is making a face now too, Draco, Greg, and Daphne eyeing them both with suspicion.

“The horse!” Theo repeats, rising to his feet and pointing at the horse that has yet to move. “Right there, by the tree with the clump of dead flowers in its roots! It’s not that small, how can you not see it?”

“There’s nothing there!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” fed-up, Theo starts walking towards the horse, steps careful and posture unintimidating. Not wanting Theo to get hurt and because he’s curious, Harry rushes after him, hearing Blaise call out from the water.

“Hey! Where are you two going? Where are they going?”

Harry and Theo ignore him, slowing down when they get within a few meters of the horse. It stays motionless, allowing them a clearer view of its bizarre body that stands a head taller than them. Pupil-less, milky eyes are the only color on the otherwise deep blue, almost black skeletal head that sharpens into a pointy beak. Right. Definitely not like any muggle horse he’s ever heard of. There are other indications too: the stubby horns that arch back from its forehead, and the spiny tail that they can see brushing the mulched forest floor.

“What is it?” Harry breathes out, staying even with Theo when the boy takes another step.

“Dunno,” Theo whispers back.

When they get a smidge closer, breaching the edge of the forest, the creature huffs through bony, non-existent nostrils, one knobby leg stomping, the protruding shoulder bone flexing under leathery skin.

The boys freeze at the display, but when the creature huffs again and bobs its head, Harry inches forward and speaks in the soothing voice he unwittingly uses around animals.

“Hi big guy… or girl…it’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you…” He feels a bit silly talking like this with Theo around, only to find reassurance when Theo says nothing and stays by his side. “You’re alright, it’s alright…”

He raises his hand, palm down, surprised to see a lack of trembling. He certainly feels like his nerves are shaking him apart as a voice in the back of his mind yells at him for being so stupid as to offer up his vulnerable hand to that sharp beak.

His surprise rises exponentially when the horse cranes its head forward, revealing its jutting spine half covered by folds of skin that Harry realizes are wings tucked back against its narrow body. Harry’s skin rises with goose pimples when the creature exhales a cold, humid breath, just a hands-width away. He can practically feel the not-quite-skin when a man’s bellow startles all three of them, sending Harry and Theo leaping back, watching as the horse gallops away until it disappears in the trees without a sound.

Heavy footfalls herald the source of their interruption.

“Oi! You lot! Wha’ do yeh think yer—oh, Harry, it’s you.”

Harry fights back the sour response that wants to burst forth at seeing the giant, the memories of his actions in Diagon Alley not forgotten, let alone forgiven. “Hello, Hagrid.”

“I shoulda recognized yeh by tha’ nest you call hair.”

What a shining compliment. “Yup.”

The giant stops before them, looking to where Harry had been reaching with “What are you two doing? Don’ need to remind yeh the Forest is off limits, do I?”

“We weren’t going to go in, Hagrid, there was a horse and we wanted to—”

“A horse?” Hagrid interrupts, suddenly observing them intently. “A horse you said? Skeletal-like with wings and a tail?”

“Yes, why, what’s wrong with the horse, Hagrid?”

The giant contemplates them for a measured moment before coming to a decision, speech meticulous. “Tha’ was no ordinary horse, Harry. Tha’ there was a thestral.”

“A thestral?” He definitely doesn’t remember those mentioned in _Fantastic Beasts_ or any other books he read. Harry sends Theo a questioning gaze to see if he knows anymore about the creature than he does. Theo, however, mirrors his confusion, so Harry turns back to Hagrid. “Are they bad? The others couldn’t see it…”

Hagrid clears his throat gruffly and shuffles his feet. “I’m not sure I should be the one tah tell yeh—”

“Please, Hagrid?”

Sighing heavily, Hagrid tilts his head down, speaking more to his twiddling fingers than the boys before him. “Thestrals, Harry… great creatures they are, truly beau’iful, just a bi’ misunderstood, yeh see, got a bi’ of a bad reputation though because they can only be seen… Well, only people who’ve seen…”

“Yes?”

Hagrid heaves a breath and looks at them, apology and regret making his eyes glisten. “They can only be seen by someone who’s seen death.”

“Oh,” Harry says, knocked off kilter by the heavy declaration. “So, because I saw mum…”

Hagrid clears his throat again, eyes shifting away. “Aye.”

Harry peers at Theo, unwilling to ask the obvious personal, unnecessary question. Theo responds anyway, a small, confirming nod, his expression otherwise blank. He says nothing, letting Harry do the talking with the giant who has so far ignored the young Slytherin.

Harry lets the new information settle and reorients himself before looking up once more. “Thank you for telling us. Are thestrals dangerous? That one seemed nice.”

“No, no,” Hagrid says, straightening now that the uncomfortable topic has been dealt with. “Seriously misunderstood creatures, seriously misunderstood. Real gentle. Don’ hurt no one, though they do like meat.”

“How many are in there?” Harry asks, looking to the trees as if he can see through their inky depths.

“Oh, there’s a whole handful of ‘em. Trained ‘em myself, I did, the largest domesticated herd yeh’ll find on the Isles. Yeh might see ‘em around sometimes, they occasionally fly over the treetops when they’re looking for birds to snack on.” His attention sweeps over the dimming horizon and he pulls a pocket watch from the inside of his coat, surprised by the time he reads. “Ah, speaking of, you lot best be headin’ back to the castle. Dinner will be served up soon.”

A brief glance over at their friends and the other students on the grounds shows they’re gathering their belongings. Harry concedes with a nod. “Alright. Thanks again, Hagrid. Sorry if we worried you.”

“No need for tha’,” Hagrid said, genially waving away his apologies. “Just be careful yeh hear?”

“We will.”

“Oh, and Harry, if yeh ever feel like coming down for a cuppa, my door is always open to yeh. Yeh can even bring a few… friends if yeh’d like.”

“That’s very kind of you, Hagrid,” he replies, having no intention whatsoever of being around the giant more than is accidental or school mandated. “I’ll see you later.”

“Righ’. Take care, then.”

Harry and Theo meet their friends halfway, receiving pressing looks from the lot of them while they start their trek up the sloping grass.

“What did that oaf want?” Draco asks, handing Harry his bag, book presumably inside.

“They were nearly in the forest,” Terrence butts in. “He was probably telling them off for chasing after imaginary horses.”

Theo’s eyes narrow at Terrence. “It wasn’t imaginary.”

“Hagrid called it a thestral,” Harry tells them, indignant that the others were so insistent they were making something so silly up.

Terrence’s arms fly up and flop with exasperation. “Called _what_ , what? There wasn’t anything there!”

“No, no, I’ve heard of thestrals,” Daphne speaks up, eyes shadowed. “Only people who’ve seen death can see them, right?”

A grimace crosses over the others hearing that, quick as they are on the uptake. Harry nods at Daphne with an unbothered smile. He now has one good thing that came from his parents’ deaths; he’s not about to be upset about it. “That’s what Hagrid said.”

“Oh,” Terrence says, deflating. Harry doesn’t mind that Terrence doesn’t apologize and instead asks, “What did it look like?”

Harry looks to Theo to answer. “It was all bones and dark, papery skin with completely white eyes, leathery wings, and a long, thin tail. Wasn’t much taller than us, but I’m not sure if that’s because it was young or that’s just how big they are.”

“Hagrid says there’s a herd of them in the forest,” Harry adds, adjusting his pace to march up the stone steps to the Entrance Hall.

“That just makes it even more strange that it was standing there staring,” Blaise says. Harry notices that he and Vince are shivering a little bit. Focusing, he reaches for his magic and extends it outwards, sending a wave of warmth over the two of them. Both boys blink and frown, not sure what caused the change in temperature, but their shoulders relax, and their hands unclench, so Harry is satisfied.

The First Years maneuver around the groups of students entering the Great Hall, spotting Milli and Tracey already seated at the far end of the Slytherin table.

“There you are,” Tracey says when she spots them, lowering her forkful of Yorkshire pudding. “Where were you?”

“By the lake,” Greg says, folding himself into the seat next to her.

“Went swimming,” Vince adds, following Greg’s lead in piling food on to his gleaming plate.

Milli pauses sipping from her glass of pumpkin juice, eyeing Vince with disbelief. “Aren’t there mermaids and a giant squid?”

Harry smirks from his spot two seats over, glad he wasn’t the only sane one. “That’s what I said.”

Blaise sighs loud enough to catch the scrutinizing attention of the Second Years. Ignoring them, he sends Harry and Milli exaggerated disappointed looks. “You two are boring. Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Over there with the Gryffindors,” Harry snorts, scooping up some cubed potatoes.

“Where you apparently belong, Blaise,” Draco adds, unable to resist a chance to annoy his friend.

Blaise’s scandalized look is enough to make them all cover their mouths to stifle their sudden laughter. “You mind your tongue, Draco!” Blaise exclaims. “Never have I heard such slander…”

Harry stuffs a roll in his mouth, enjoying his friends’ shenanigans for the rest of the meal.

When dinner concludes without issue and they congregate at the library, Harry and Tracey lead the way through the towering shelves, dodging out of the way of floating books while they look for a large enough table out of sight of the despotic librarian. They find what they’re looking for in the corner of the second floor. A west-facing window above the table’s end shows the last stretching fingers of sunlight on the horizon, the floating candlestick chandelier overhead replacing the sun’s illumination duties with glowing pride.

“You didn’t mention,” Draco says to Milli and Tracey as they all find seats around the twelve-seater table. “How useless were your medical exams?”

Harry freezes for a moment before recovering, not wanting the others to notice exactly _how much_ he burns to know the answer to that question.

“Draco,” Daphne scolds, pulling parchment out of her bag. “You can’t ask a girl that!”

Draco sputters for a moment. “What? Why?”

“It’s fine,” Tracey placates, addressing Draco with a matter-of-fact tone. “She waved her wand and it recorded our height, weight, other basic stuff. She asked if we’ve had our shots and that was it. Since we’re fine and up to date, she sent us on our way.”

Huh. That doesn’t sound too bad. He’s a bit short, as everyone so helpfully points out, but he should be at a good weight now after being with the Malfoys for a month, right? And he can lie about his shots. Or maybe there are magical ones in addition to muggle ones? If there are, then they can’t be upset with him for not having his magical shots, seeing as how he didn’t know they existed…

He’ll be fine. Adults have never noticed how very much _not-okay_ he was before, and Madam Pomfrey has dozens of students to get through; she likely won’t question things too much.

He unstoppers his ink pot and dips his quill, worry leaving him as he concentrates on completing his Charms assignment. His homework is completed in short order, their work easy given their previous knowledge and the other minds available to answer questions. Ten ‘til nine, the librarian, named Madam Pince as they find out when Tracey asks, comes by and informs them that the library’s closing.

On their way out, Harry stops near the stairs to look up, elated once more by all the possible information presented to him with such an expansive library.

“You have seven years, you prat,” Draco drawls, keeping a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder to make sure he stays with the group. “Reading later. Exploding Snap now.”

After saying goodnight to the girls in the packed Common Room, Harry sneaks quick waves to Master Ó’Briain, **_consumerofnight_** , and **_scalesofwild_** and copies the boys in dropping daypacks off in their individual dorm rooms before reuniting in their Party Room. Terrence and Blaise are arguing over who gets to shuffle the deck when a _mrow!_ startles Harry, giving him a moment’s warning before he suddenly has a lap full of lively Daisy.

“Hey, you,” Harry smiles, running a hand down Daisy’s back as she rises to put her front paws on his chest and sniff his face. “Have a fun day?”

“She wasn’t in your room?” Theo asks, watching Daisy with a barely-there smile.

“She disappeared this morning when we were in the Common Room,” Harry replies, holding his tie out as a target for Daisy’s batting paws. “The Head Girl, Travers, told me about the Familiar Room. I assume that’s where Daisy disappeared to.”

“Familiar Room?”

“All of the common rooms have secret passageways to a room where pets can eat, play, and do whatever pets do. Though she did say it’s mostly cats that go there, which makes sense. She also mentioned that there are wards around the castle to get rid of dandruff, fur, and prevent the pets from damaging the castle.”

“Wicked,” Blaise grins. “What about snakes?”

All eyes turn to Draco who only shrugs. “Artemis wasn’t in my room just now. Perhaps they found the Room.”

‘They found’. _They_.

Harry pulls Daisy a little closer, hiding his face in her fur so the other boys can’t see how affected he is by the painful reminder of what he’s lost. _Who_ he’s lost.

He straightens up a moment later because, no. _No_ , he can’t think of that anymore. He has gained far too much to be dragged down again by someone who doesn’t want him anymore.

Even if that someone was his first friend. His savior.

When Terrence tells him it’s his turn and the cards in his hand blow up with a bang that startles Daisy and sends the boys into howling laughter, Harry knows what he has to do in order to keep this happiness, this belonging that's so freely given.

He needs to move on.

***

Sometime later, after a draining game with his rowdy Housemates, Harry manages to divest his clothes and brush his teeth before collapsing in his bed.

He survived his first day of magic school and came out of it in one piece.

It had certainly been a very, _very_ busy day with more twists and plummets than he’s ever felt flying on a broom, but it was a good day, nevertheless.

Not perfect, but good.

He yawns and closes his eyes, commanding his mind to let him rest. As he feels the heavy darkness encroach on his senses, he smiles against Daisy’s ear.

One day down, seven more years to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, guyyyssss.  
> Did I seriously just take over three months to write over 20,000 words that only covers one single day?  
> Yeah, I guess I did.  
> Thoughts?
> 
> All of your support boosts my creative energy and each email I get about one of your comments brightens my whole day, so please, please, please, keep 'em coming! And of course, if you see an error in here, please let me know, I always appreciate it!
> 
> Until next time, stay phenomenal!


	11. Where There is Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock winds down to Harry's medical exam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year ago to the day I started this series. I'm rather proud of where it's gone in that time and am extremely grateful to each and every one of you for your comments, kudos, and general support of this fic. You're all amazing!
> 
> A very Happy and Healthy Holidays to you and your loved ones! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“I didn’t get to introduce my friends to you yesterday.”

Master Ó’Briain shakes her head minutely. “It is no matter, child, fret not. As it happens, I spoke more with Miss Travers along with her charming betrothed and a few of their fellow students last night.”

“Oh.” Harry presses his side further into the apex of the couch’s arm and the back, tucking his socked toes deeper into the seam between the cushions. Even with the fire crackling behind him, the dungeons are unreasonably freezing so early in the morning. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Indeed,” she hums. “I trust you had no troubles on your first day?”

Harry ducks his head, petting Daisy where she’s curled up in his lap, stealing his precious heat. “It was okay. Thank you. How was your day?”

A ghost of smile lightens the painted woman’s features. “My day was not unpleasant. Your inquiry of my well-being is appreciated, child. Tell me, your classes, how do you think you’ll fair?”

Harry smiles at her. “I have already read all of the textbooks for this year and practiced a few of the spells and charms, so Charms class was easy. Transfiguration was different… I made a hairbrush out of broken crayon once, but in class I accidentally made my match into a sword the first go. I got it the second time, though!”

Master Ó’Briain nods. “And Defense?”

Harry assumes she knows his schedule from observing the hundreds of other Slytherin First Years over the years and doesn’t question it further. He does however frown in memory of the strange sensation he felt whenever Professor Quirrell presented his back. A part of him wants to tell someone, while the better part of him refrains for fear he’s just being silly or imagined it in a garlic-fueled hallucination. He decides to worry about it on his own for a while longer. “It was okay. He said we’ll mostly be doing theory work.”

“I see. To my knowledge, all the professors that pass through that position have their own manner of teaching that is inconsistent with their predecessors. Self-study to fill in the gaps in curriculum has proven to be most helpful for the older students.”

“‘All the professors’?” Harry repeats. “Exactly how many have there been?”

“A fair few. The Defense post is said to be cursed since 1957. No professor has been able to stay in the position longer than one year.”

Harry’s brow furrows. _Seriously?_ What kind of school is this that their staff is on a nefariously predictable rotation? “What happened to all of them?”

“Some were fired, some perished, others were run off the grounds. The reasons are endless, but come June, they all leave.”

“Huh,” Harry says. He wonders what will happen to Quirrell. “And no one knows how the curse was placed or how to break it? I would think the Headmaster or someone from the Ministry would be able to take it down.”

“One would think so,” she says in a tone that makes it obvious to Harry that she knows more than she’s saying. Would she answer if he questioned it further?

“Have you finished your assignments for yesterday’s classes, Heir Potter?”

He bows to the subject change, reasoning that if something was known and the curse was able to be dealt with, then someone would have done it already.

“Yes, my friends and I completed them at the library after dinner. We wanted to get everything done early.”

“A wise habit to maintain.”

An annoyed hiss interjects before Harry can respond. **That isss no sssecret! Hatchling, we made a promissse, did you already forget?**

Harry cranes his neck to look back and up at **_consumerofnight_** and **_scalesofwild_**. **I did not forget** , he reassures the slithering creatures.

 ** _Scalesofwild_** glides over **_consumerofnight_** to get closer to Harry. **Good. We will grant you a sssecret firssst. What do you want to know?**

Harry thinks about it for a moment, weighing the possibilities. His gaze falls to the opposite corner of the Common Room where he didn't dare trespass this morning. **The room back there… the library. Can anyone take books from there?**

Perhaps it’s a wasted question, but he’d rather ask the snakes than possibly be roped into owing a favor to an older Slytherin he’d otherwise be forced to grill for information.

 **The room, he asssksss, _consumerofnight_** hisses, and Harry is pretty sure he’s being laughed at. **The room hasss many sssecretsss.**

 **If one only knowsss how to asssk** , **_scalesofwild_** adds.

Isn’t that what he’s doing: asking?

**Our turn, hatchling!**

Great. Definitely wasted. **Alright, what’s your question, then?**

The two snakes converse in tones too low for Harry to hear until **_consumerofnight_** eventually raises his head. **Why do the other hatchlingsss ssspeak your name ssso much, hatchling?**

Harry cringes. Even though he knew he’d be a popular topic of conversation, it still irks him so. **Something important happened when I was a very small hatchling. Many people found out and my name became known everywhere. Me coming to the Nest of Serpents is also odd.**

 **Why would you not be one of usss?** **_Scalesofwild_** hisses. **You are a ssspeaker. There isss no other place for you.**

**Very few people know I am a speaker. They do not think I belong. They are probably angry.**

**_Consumerofnight_** ’s tongue flickers out. **There were large hatchlingsss that sssaid you do not belong. We defended your honor, but they did not hear. The female hatchling that greeted you lassst sssun sssilenced them.**

It takes a moment for Harry to decipher the words. Last sun? Does that mean yesterday morning? Travers. So. Older students are cheesed off about him being a Slytherin. Again, he expected as much. Regardless what promises the Prefects and Snape delivered regarding Slytherin House being their family, their home, Harry will never drop his guard. He didn’t survive the Dursleys only to be whacked by some petty teenagers.

At least the Head Girl is judicious.

Knowing it’s his turn to ask a question now, Harry remembers his confrontation with Snape the morning before. **How does Professor Snape know when students are out of bed?**

**We do not know, hatchling. We ssseee, hear, and ssspeak. We cannot sssmell or feel.**

**You mean you can’t tell if there’s magic in the Common Room?**

**Cannot sssmell or feel** , **_scalesofwild_** reiterates.

Before he sinks in disappointment, Harry thinks of another option. He faces Master Ó’Briain, finding her already watching him. “How does the Head of House know when students are out of bed? Are there wards? Is he able to watch somehow?”

“There are indeed monitoring wards, among others.” Her eyes narrow. “I am assuming your presence yesterday morning was questioned?”

“I was warned not to cause any trouble,” he explains, still upset by the unwarranted scolding.

“From my observations of you thus far, Heir Potter, causing trouble is not a habit of yours. I would not take Master Snape’s admonishments to heart.”

Sighing, Harry lets his head drop against the couch with a soft thud. If only it were that simple.

***

A galleon comes attached to Draco’s letter and Harry snorts at his friend’s outrageously smug expression.

“Father always follows through,” Draco grins, thumb rubbing the ribbed edges of the coin before he pockets it, straightening the parchment of his letter, giving the one in Harry’s hands a pointed look. “No need to read mine, Scarhead, you’ve got your own.”

“Prat.” His fingers fumble to break the Malfoy Family crest pressed into the cat-eye wax seal. He manages to do so without ripping the envelope and pulls out his letter. There’s no galleon included, but the words written in elegant backhand prove to be more valuable with every word Harry reads.

_Harry,_

_Congratulations, child._

_It is an honor to now have you in our family twice over. Draco is elated at your Sorting, as are the rest of your friends, I am sure. We do hope you are as pleased with your placement as we are._

_I should not think I need to warn you to be aware of scrutiny from all sides, and have no doubt, you will be watched. Your path is not going to be an easy one, but you will find no better allies than those in Slytherin. We look after our own, after all. That includes Professor Snape, no matter how intimidating he pretends to be._

_We look forward to hearing from you soon,_

_Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius_

Harry rubs his chest, attempting to sooth the strange, inflated feeling he’s suddenly experiencing. ‘ _Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius’._ They answered. They’re _pleased._ They _care_ enough to give him advice.

It’s all he can do to keep from wiggling in his seat like a giddy fool.

One comment stands out from the others. Professor Snape is only pretending? How does she mean?

Harry sneaks a glance at the Head Table, watching the surly man sip his tea. He’s well aware of masks people adorn to protect themselves, Slytherins especially. There’s also the Malfoy family’s obvious friendship with the man to consider. If Aunt Cissa is to be believed, that Professor Snape’s antagonism towards Harry is feigned, then the man' a topping good actor. Regardless, Harry won't believe it until he personally sees definitive proof that Professor Snape's only 'pretending'. Even though he does trust the Malfoys, he won't permit himself to feel hope, not when there's every chance it will be torn away.

He realizes the bigger question he should be asking: why does Professor Snape feel the need to pretend at all in the first place?

A mass of feathers brings Harry’s attention to Theo and the huge owl that digs its talons into his shoulder to gain purchase. It must be as heavy as it looks, too, because Theo’s hands shake as they bumble to open the owl’s leg pouch.

“Let’s write our responses later so they can be sent off at breakfast tomorrow,” Draco tells Harry, tucking his letter away in his robe pocket.

Harry does the same, focus returning to his breakfast. “Yeah, sure.”

Theo’s owl takes flight, the boy swaying in his seat from the movement, letter disappearing unopened into his bag.

He looks a bit peaky. Harry hopes he’s okay.

*******

Professor Sprout is a delightful woman, Harry decides.

She greets the Slytherin First Years with as much exuberance as she does her Hufflepuffs, jolliness untouchable even by the derisive looks some students send the plants covering every available surface of Greenhouse One. The air is humid and smells of damp dirt, exactly the type of nurturing atmosphere the assorted flora craves.

Harry loves it.

“Gather round, everybody, gather round. Two to a pot, that’s it.”

There’s shuffling as students glob on to their fellow Housemates in front of the inhabited pots situated intermittently on the long table that runs the course of the greenhouse. Harry notices that Neville is being corralled by none other than Ernie, Hannah, and Susan. Reminding himself that the two girls have only met _Henry_ and not _Harry_ , therefore he should call them Bones and Abbott; he sidles over to the plant next to Ernie and Neville.

“Alright there, Harry?” Ernie asks, spotting him. He looks over his shoulder just as Harry feels a presence at his side. “Draco, Milli, Pansy, good morning.”

Harry grins his hello, Draco and the girls saying their own greeting before their attention is drawn back to Professor Sprout at the head of the table.

“Good morning, class!” The woman beams, hands clasped before her generous belly. “I am Professor Sprout, welcome to Herbology! Now, I am willing to bet that many of you have not had much experience with magical plants, am I correct? Yes? Yes, not to worry! That’s why we’re here, to learn! Before we begin, let’s have a show of hands, how many of you have worked with plants before? In any capacity? It’s alright, don’t be nervous, put ‘em up, put ‘em up!”

Harry raises his hand, along with several other students from Hufflepuff. It’s a sore reminder of his irregularities when none of the other Slytherins raise their hands. He is, however, happy to note that Neville raises his hand, looking rather shy about how eagerly he does so.

“Very good,” Professor Sprout exclaims, hand absently moving through the air as if she’s counting their hands. “A handful of you may be familiar, then, with what tools we’re going to be working with today. Now, can anybody tell me what plant is sitting before you?”

Harry studies the bush before them, the plentiful, pale green leaves stretching out and reminding him of somebody with their arms raised by their head in excitement. With that thought, a drawing from the class textbook, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ makes him think the plant might be wormwood.

“Anybody? Anybody?” Professor Sprout looks around at them expectantly. “How about you, Mister Longbottom, any idea?”

Harry doesn’t think he imagines how Neville’s shoulders shake as they rise up next to his ears, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way his voice quakes. “Wo-wo-wormwood, Profess-s-sor.”

“Yes, yes, well done, Mister Longbottom, exactly right! Five points to Hufflepuff.” Professor Sprout looks absolutely delighted and seconds away from pinching the anxious boy’s slightly chubby cheeks. Harry hears a whispered, “Well done, Neville!” from Abbott or Bones and is pleased when Neville relaxes under their praise. Professor Sprout continues, addressing the rest of the class. “Hear that, everyone? Wormwood is what we will be working with today. Can anybody tell me anything they know about wormwood? Where it originates, what it’s used for…?”

Feeling bolstered by his recall of the textbook, Harry raises his hand, as do a few other students from both Houses. Professor Sprout calls on Daphne.

“Wormwood is commonly used in medicines and several potions, including the Draught of Living Death in the form of Infusion of Wormwood.”

“Quite right, Miss…?”

“Greengrass, ma’am.”

“Miss Greengrass, then, you were quite right; have five points for Slytherin. I imagine Professor Snape will be very pleased you know that bit of information. Anybody else have anything to add? Yes, Mister Hopkins?”

Hopkins—Wayne, Harry thinks—is a taller boy with soft features and short hair dark enough to challenge Harry’s inky locks. “Uh, it’s bitter? And from North America?”

“Both true,” Professor Sprout nods in encouragement. “Five points to Hufflepuff. Thank you both for your input! If would all please take out your stationery, we will take some more notes before we begin the basics of pruning and harvesting. Sound good?”

Again, Harry finds himself bored with the class as the material is redundant given his forced practice at the Dursleys and reading Herbology and Potions textbooks ahead of time. He nonetheless dutifully takes notes to avoid attracting attention. When they finally have pruners in hand, Harry takes the lead in showing Draco how to snip any faded flowers on their bush while Draco scoops up the spilled scraps and adds them to their detritus bucket hanging under the table. 

Professor Sprout allows the class to converse while they work, walking around to monitor their progress. Harry catches snippets of the conversations around them.

“The humidity is destroying my hair—”

“Do you think we’ll be using these bits in Potions?”

“Hey, can you pass me the—”

“—watch where you point those things!”

“Something must have happened to Henry or his family. I hope he’s okay.”

Harry’s ears perk when he hears his alias’s name. He thinks it’s a coincidence, until he realizes it’s Abbott talking to Bones.

“Maybe we’ll see him over the summer. Or he might come here next year!” Bones replies, sounding optimistic.

“I hope so,” Abbott sighs, swiping some dirt off her arm. “He was so nice.”

“—peasant work, don’t you think, Harry?”

Harry frowns, leaning away from Ernie when he notices how he’d gotten closer to better hear Bones and Abbott. “Sorry, what?” he apologizes to Draco, refocusing on their shared wormwood.

Draco is visibly put-out by Harry’s inattentiveness. “I _said_ , don’t you think this class is demeaning? It is peasant work, nothing that we heirs should be sullying ourselves with.”

Harry clears his throat, hoping the flush on his neck doesn’t rise above his collar. He raises one shoulder then lets it drop. “It’s not too bad. Kind of relaxing after a while.”

Draco goggles at him. “ _Relaxing_? Are you mad? This is not relaxing, Harry. Taking a bath, flying a broom, reading a book- _those_ are relaxing. Not this drivel.”

“It’s not drivel, Draco,” Milli points out, having overheard them. “This stuff could very well save your life someday. It’s important to know.”

“Right,” Draco scoffs, aggressively tugging a browned flower off the stem. “As if knowing how to cut a plant will save my life. I could just buy heaps of it or have someone else do it for me.”

“And if you can’t?” Milli asks, expression thoroughly unimpressed.

Draco raises his chin. “Then I just won’t be idiotic enough to get in such a situation anyway.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Milli rolls her eyes. She leans back towards Pansy who’s using her quill tip to dig dirt out from one of her manicured nails. “Pansy, we’re not even halfway through class, you’re going to get more dirt under there anyway, don’t ruin your quill.”

“But Milli, my nail beds are going to be absolutely _ruined!_ ” Harry hears Pansy whine.

“Par for the course, I’m afraid,” Professor Sprout cheers, appearing behind them. “A simple dirt-removal spell at the end of class will fix you right up, ladies, but until then, more snipping, less speaking, please.”

Pansy turns red from the warning, despite their professor’s happy demeanor, and immediately picks up her pruners, holding them in a death-grip close to her chest with both hands like she’s afraid the wormwood will attack her.

Harry’s attention swivels back to Professor Sprout when the woman looks over his and Draco’s shoulders at their pot. “Looking good, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, I see you know what you’re doing.”

Harry ducks his head whereas Draco preens. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Keep it up,” Professor Sprout nods, moving on to Ernie and Neville as Draco sends an annoyed Pansy a smug look. Harry turns back to their wormwood, feeling a bit contrite as he tunes in to hear the conversation happening on his other side.

“Looks wonderful, boys,” Professor Sprout compliments.

“It’s all Neville, Professor,” Ernie gushes, stepping back and gesturing to Neville. “He’s a right budding herbologist.”

Harry can’t hear what Neville mumbles, but it must have been something self-deprecating because Professor Sprout says, “Nonsense, Mister Longbottom, you should be proud. Your experience and intuition with Herbology will get you far, and don’t you forget it.”

Turning his head just enough to see out of the corner of his eye, Harry finds Neville to be bright red while Ernie is openly grinning.

“Th-thank you, Professor,” Neville stammers, clenching his hand around his pruners, making them squeak.

“As you were,” Professor Sprout smiles, moving on to Bones and Abbott.

When the boys go back to their wormwood, Harry’s not quick enough to pretend like he wasn’t listening, and Ernie notices. Instead of being mad, however, Ernie smiles, and leans back, gesturing to Neville. “Harry, Neville, do you two know each other?”

Shaking his head, Harry looks over, meeting his godbrother’s gaze for the second time. Straight, dirty-blonde hair hangs into nervous eyes that have a constant watery look. Front teeth with a small gap in between bite down on his bottom lip and the action urges Harry to attempt to look more confident, and not as nervous as he feels. They can’t both very well be nervous wrecks, otherwise they’ll never get around to having a conversation. “Hello, Heir Longbottom. We didn't get to speak much on the train."

Neville’s hands fret for a moment as his gaze flutters to Harry then away. “R-right. Hi again, Heir Potter. W-well met.”

“Well met,” Harry smiles. He doesn’t like how Neville looks one nudge away from shattering.

“Sounds like you two are my go-to if I have any questions about plants,” Ernie grins, before telling Harry, “Neville was telling me all about his greenhouse at his manor; I’ve never heard about many of his plants, but you might have, Harry.”

Harry’s smile turns strained. “Maybe. I’ve read about magical plants, but I’ve really only ever worked on muggle ones.”

“Really?” Ernie frowns, Neville mirroring his expression. “But I thought you lived—"

“Harry, are you going to help me with this thing, or not?”

Draco’s interruption is as welcomed as it is unwanted. Harry wants to keep talking to Neville and Ernie, but not if the conversation’s headed towards Dursley territory. “Sorry,” he apologizes to them, grimacing. “Should probably finish working.”

“No worries,” Ernie says, smiling once more. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry can’t help but look to Neville for his reaction to possibly spending more time with Harry. When Neville gives a nervous nod, Harry bites the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. He turns back to Draco, apologizes to him too, showing him proper harvesting technique for the rest of class.

At the end of the double period, Professor Sprout lets them know their efforts won’t go to waste, as their collected wormwood will be used by Professor Snape and the different Potions classes. They’re given an essay on wormwood to complete for next class, then are dismissed. The Hufflepuffs leave en masse while Professor Sprout keeps her promise and cleans up Pansy and several other Slytherins’ nails. Harry briefly ponders why they don’t just wash their hands, before he realizes that magic is much more efficient than wasting water. With that in mind, he casts the spell Aunt Cissa taught them, _Lutum Evanesco,_ to clean his and Draco’s robes and hands as they depart Greenhouse One.

Flint and Farley had offered to come escort them all once more, but Blaise and Tracey reassured them that they could all find their way using their maps, and indeed they had. Glad to be out of the humidity, they enter the Central Tower’s massive doors and traverse through the Long Gallery to the Viaduct Vestibule, joining the hordes of students making their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

Draco and Pansy talk the whole way, complaining to the rest of the group about the unfairness of having a seven-year sentence to “toil in the dirt like pigs”. Harry gladly focuses instead on consuming his delicious roast beef sandwich before they must leave for Potions.

It’s when they’re all walking through the dungeons that Harry finds out Draco and Pansy’s Herbology trivialities are the least of his worries.

“Hey, Potter!”

At first, Harry thinks he misheard his name being called and doesn’t look back. Blaise, however, does, and groans at what he sees.

“I just knew the Gryffindorks would start something.”

“Potter!”

Harry frowns, turning to see the Ronald Weasley in all his freckled glory stomping his way towards the Slytherins. Two boys trail at his sides, one with brown hair and a wide mouth, the other with light blonde hair, his back curved in a painful-looking slouch.

All three of them have scrunched expressions; anger, disgust, and annoyance all fighting for representation. Despite wanting to avoid the confrontation completely, Harry faces them, unwilling to have them at his back. Before he can tell the boys to shove off, Draco does so for him.

“Back off, Weasel,” Draco sneers, stepping up next to Harry as the trio stops before them.

Ronald’s face turns an ugly puce. “Wasn’t talking to you, Ferret, was talking to Potter.”

“Well, he is not talking to you,” Pansy says, stepping up to loop her arm through Harry’s left elbow.

“You that stupid and pathetic that you need others to speak for you, Potter?” The boy with the wide mouth spits, short nose crinkling as he bares his teeth. Behind him, the rest of the Gryffindor First Years appear, taking in the developing fight with a mix of annoyance and interest.

Growing increasingly vexed, Harry keeps his face and voice placid. “I can speak perfectly well for myself, thanks. I just have no desire to do so with a rude stranger.”

The slouched boy’s shoulders hunch even more. “We wouldn’t be strangers if you’d just been sorted into the House you should have been!”

Harry hides his bewilderment because, _what?_ Are these boys mentally touched? “Funny. Here I was thinking that’s exactly what the Sorting Hat had done. Seeing as that’s it’s job and all.”

“Obviously not, since you’re a disgusting snake now!” Ronald’s wand trembles in his clenched fist. “You’re supposed to be in Gryffindor, a hero like your parents! You’re not supposed to be a bleeding Death Eater!”

Hisses of outrage break out among the Slytherins and several wands slice towards Ronald just as two new voices break across the scene.

“Me-oh-my, what do we have here?”

“Looks like Ronniekins is having a go at our little Dark Lord.”

Two gangly figures adorned in green-trimmed robes sling their arms around Ronald’s shoulders, securing him between their bodies.

“Let go of me, you slimy prats!” He yells, trying to squirm away. He has little success.

“Oh, that won’t do, George, not at all!”

“What should we do then, Fred?”

“Well, I don’t know about us, but I know for sure what ikkie Ronnie can do right about now.”

“And what’s that, brother dear?”

“Why, he can shove his prejudice right up his freckled arse, he can!”

“I quite agree. Would you like any help with that, Ronald?”

The Gryffindor breaks away at last, breathless, and redder than his robes. “Sod off! Of course you freaks are defending him! You’re just slimy snakes, it’s no wonder Mum—”

“What…” A plangent voice says from behind Harry. “Is going on here?”

Wary, though not needing to know who exactly looms behind their backs, Harry enjoys the satisfying sight of Ronald and his cronies’ abrupt pallor.

“Nothing, Professor!” The hunched boy squeaks.

“Indeed,” Professor Snape drawls. “Thirty points from Gryffindor for starting fights in the corridors.”

Ronald and several other Gryffindors look fit to curse their professor. The man dissuades them of that notion.

“It will be fifty more points for every one of you that is not within my classroom in the next minute,” he says, cool as can be. Harry feels the professor’s presence leave their backs and barely keeps himself from snorting when Granger practically sprints after the man, overtaking him in her desperation not to lose points. Pansy, Draco, and Terrence have no such qualms; their delighted laughter a catalyst to the other bystander Gryffindors hurrying off after her.

Like a whipped lion, Ronald emulates false bravado in the face of his embarrassment . “This isn’t over, Potter! You better watch yourself.”

When Vince and Greg step forward, both half a head taller than any of the Gryffindors, Ronald backs off, leading the other boys in a wide trail around the Slytherins and to the Potions room.

“That was fun,” Fay says, appearing at Daphne’s side, having stayed behind when the other Gryffindors retreated.

“Mangy cats, the lot of them,” Pansy grumbles, dropping her arms from Harry’s, though not before giving his forearm a small squeeze.

The others voice their agreement and turn towards the classroom, in no hurry to abide by the one-minute timer for they know Professor Snape won’t punish them severely. They still have five more minutes before class officially starts, anyway.

Harry stays where he is, peering up at his two saviors who study him in turn. This is the second time George and Fred have spared him their impertinent brother’s unpleasant company, yet only now is Harry able to fully embrace the opportunity.

After a moment of eyeing the other party up, he lets a small grin break his uncaring façade.

“Thank you, Gred,” he says to the one he is nearly completely positive is George. To Fred, who has no beauty mark on his nose and eyes that are darker blue, he nods, “Thank you, Forge.”

The twins blink, their masks cracking as George rubs his eyes with his fists then blinks at Harry once more. “Pinch me, Freddie, I think I’m dreaming.”

Fred pats his cheek a few times as if to wake himself up. “Then I’m dreaming along with you, Georgie. The Boy-Who-Lives knows our names!”

“And not just our names, but our real ones!”

“Tell us your secret, Mini Dark Lord, sir!”

“Who’d you bribe to get that information? Not even our mother can tell us apart!”

“Oh! I bet I know! Professor Snape must have told him!”

“Ah, yes! Our dear Head Snake is the only one whom we can never trick!”

“I can’t believe he would betray our secrets!”

“He didn’t,” Harry reassures, having followed along with their back-and-forth easily. “I have my ways.”

“Is that so?”

“Well that clears everything right up!” Fred says, words thick with sarcasm and good humor.

“Not to worry," George winks.

“Keep your secrets, Little Lord.”

“We’ll find them on our own.”

“Have fun with that,” Harry smirks, feeling oddly puerile by partaking in the banter.

“Oh, we will,” they say, expressions positively devilish.

“Ta ta for now, Firsties!”

“Best not to keep our Master Snake waiting.”

With grandiose salutes, Fred and George disappear in the direction of the Common Room.

“What was _that?_ ”

Harry faces Draco who stands with their friends just outside the classroom doors.

“I think I just made a couple more friends.” Joining them, he hides exactly how pleased with himself he is.

“Forging connections already, Harry?” Milli teases. “How Slytherin.”

Harry smirks, only to drop it when they enter the room proper and Professor Snape orders, “Take your seats.”

The rectangular classroom is a substantial size with high, barreled ceilings and arches connecting seven round alcoves to the main room. Six ceiling windows allow refracted light from the lake above to pierce down on the two rows of three tables. Harry spots an aged, wooden door to the left when he enters; there’s no indication as to what lies beyond. Vials and jars filled with substances of undesirable origins adorn the walls and shelves, and wood stools push into metal tables with square, concrete tabletops. Four embedded fire grates beneath accompanying cauldron stands designate seating arrangements on each table.

The two tables in the back are already inhabited by Gryffindors, the right, middle one occupied only by two students. Predictably, they’ve left the tables closest to Professor Snape’s desk available.

“Apologies, Professor, we were developing our interpersonal communication skills,” Daphne says as they fill the remaining seats. She sits with Pansy, Fay, and Terrence at the left, middle table while the rest of them set their bags down under the two tables in front of the alcove where Professor Snape’s desk resides. Harry notices yet another door by the desk and wonders where it leads to. His office, perhaps?

“How…resourceful. Five points to Slytherin for your efforts. Nevertheless, I will thank you to do so when it will not conflict with your classes.”

An indignant voice cries out even before he’s finished his sentence. “But sir, they came in after one minute had passed!”

The professor’s hooded glare sets off shivers among many students. “I do possess the mental faculties to tell time, Miss Granger. You will do well to refrain from speaking out of turn again. Five points from Gryffindor.”

With a gasp, Granger dips her head low over her open textbook, mounds of curly hair hiding her stricken expression. The other Gryffindor girl at her table doesn’t look remotely sorry for her.

“Now then.” Professor Snape’s near-whisper sends a hush over the room, leaving only the man’s voice and the gurgling of cauldrons on the alcove tables. “The science of potion making is often overlooked in the magical community. There are no inane incantations, rash decisions, nor substandard efforts. There are, however, exact movements, patience, and immense dedication. Demonstrate these and perhaps one day you may be capable of taming beasts, brewing favor or fortune, and curing the uncurable.”

Harry’s breath remains trapped in his lungs; mind too enraptured with the man’s mesmerizing manner of speaking.

Professor Snape’s brow quirks for a spare moment, giving a hint of withheld amusement as he continues. “But I highly doubt it. If some of you are anything like the other dunderheads I have had to teach, then your knowledge of the fundamentals is severely lacking. We will attempt to remedy this today. I will demonstrate proper techniques, and you will implement them on going forward. Any misconduct I see during this process will result in a detention and zero for the day. Is that understood?”

Only a few murmurs of “yes, sir” break the silence, most students nodding, unable to find their voices just yet.

“Very well. Those who have no inclination of what to do, gather around the table here,” he instructs, stalking over to the alcove closest to Harry. “Those of you who are remotely competent already, begin the assignment for next class: a meter of parchment on the history, properties, and process of the Cure for Boils potion.”

Harry knows he is handy with a knife and other kitchen appliances, but he’s not sure how those skills will translate to potion making. He has no desire to screw up in front of his classmates or his godf— his professor, so despite Draco’s urging for him to stay, Harry joins Greg, Vince, Tracey, and nearly all the Gryffindors in the alcove. He keeps his friends in between him and Professor Snape, unwilling to get too close to an adult.

The professor stands with his back to the wall in optimal position to survey the whole class. His fingertips rest on the table on either side of a cutting board with several stir rods and knifes perfectly aligned with the edge. Multiple vials and jars along with a mortar and pestle rest in an arc over the top of the cutting board and Harry thinks he recognizes ginger root in one of the jars. Stationed in a circle around the center of the table are seven cauldrons, all made of different materials.

“Weasley, get over here,” Professor Snape suddenly barks out, an “eep!” sounding from the Gryffindor tables. “I’m well of your brood’s ineptitude when it comes to the exact art of potions. I won’t have another one of you blowing up my classroom.”

While Harry imagines the stories behind that statement, the class turns to watch a mulish-looking Weasley scurry over to the alcove, leaving only Granger at the Gryffindor tables. Craning his neck to see over the other students' heads, Harry sees she’s already scribbling away.

“Pay attention,” Professor Snape commands, quelling all talking and movement around the table. “I will not be repeating anything, and any mistakes you make from here on out will receive a just punishment.”

Harry’s extra glad he decided to watch this tutorial. He takes a step closer to Vince so he can better see the ingredients on the table.

Professor Snape begins by covering the types of cauldrons: brass, copper, pewter, collapsible, glass, silver, and gold. He breezes over their thickness and the essentials of how their material reacts with properties of potions, continuing to do the same with the stir rods.

He then brings out, as Harry suspected it to be, a ginger root, and uses the different knives to show the best way to chop, dice, slice, julienne, brunoise, mince, cube, and chiffonade ingredients. Several students squeal and look away when he uses the flat side of a knife to juice a flobberworm to extract its mucus, and Harry has the morbid thought that mistletoe berry juice looks like blood when it’s squeezed out. Professor Snape doesn’t start a potion, instead setting the ingredients aside or storing them in vials for later use.

Operating a pipette is easy, and the procedures for handling ingredients such as lionfish spines and aconite are simple enough. Managing to weigh ingredients on the brass scales may prove to be tedious, despite how effortless Professor Snape makes it seem. Notwithstanding it being morally discomforting, watching snake fangs be pounded into a fine powder underneath a pestle is satisfying to see, same with grinding lavender and Standard Ingredient into a paste in the mortar’s basin.

Professor Snape rounds out the demonstration by explaining what sort and of what strength of magic they need to put forth when the instructions tell them to wave their wand over the cauldron. He then shows them how one would retrieve a sample of their potion, put it in a vile, stopper it, and label it for submission.

Harry feels excitement bubbling under his skin, eager for Friday to come around so that he can make his first potion. Professor Snape made the entire procedure enthralling and Harry can’t wait to get started, to prove himself. Even if the man will never accept him, Harry still wants to make him proud.

It’s rather frustrating.

Turns out, the door near the classroom entrance is a storage room; they’re instructed to place their cauldrons in their allotted slots. Harry’s once again glad he purchased a bag with Extendable and Lightweight charms on it. Lugging a cauldron to class would have been annoying earlier had he not.

In between packing up their belongings, Blaise, Theo, and Draco tease Harry for wanting to watch the demonstration. Harry takes the jokes with a grain of salt; he knows he is far behind his classmates and if receiving more instruction will help him get ahead, then that's what he'll do. He ignores the silly comments about him finally being amateur at something and wanting to suck up to their Head of House, their words petering out when they reconvene with the others in the corridor.

“Daphne and I have our medicals soon,” Pansy tells them. “We should be heading up there.”

Blaise hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. “We’re on break until dinner. Meet us in the library and we’ll walk around some more afterwards?”

By consensus, they agree, and the group splits. Harry sticks to the middle of the cluster as they make their way to the library, having no desire for his presence to illicit another confrontation with random students.

They’re pleased to find their previous table uninhabited and claim it for themselves, spreading their parchment and books out to begin, or finish, their Potions essays.

They make idle chatter about the potion’s properties with a few snide comments about gormless Gryffindors mixed in to keep things interesting. Pansy and Daphne soon join them, catching up easily when they trade Draco information about the essay for more intel on the medicals. Their answers are the same as Milli and Tracey, that the exam is short and easy, so Draco gets the short end of the stick. Harry, however, takes solace once more in the knowledge that the medicals seem routine and he can likely get away with hiding the worst of the damage. As long as he acts normal, everything should be fine.

Half past three, they finish both their Potions and Herbology assignments and decide they’ve earned another perusal of the castle. Harry and Tracey have to be dragged away from the library, again, but a surprise in the corridor makes up for their book withdrawal.

“Hello again, Firsties.”

“We thought we’d force our presence on you once more.”

“Flint and Farley have been hogging your attention so much—”

“—It seems only fair we get our own fill.”

“You make us sound like a drug.” Vince grumbles as they gather before Fred and George. “Or pudding.”

“Well, you are just a bunch of sweetie-pies!” Fred croons, eyes alight with mischief.

“Especially our evil Harrywary here,” George adds, reaching out to ruffle Harry’s hair.

Harry’s shoulders fly to his ears reflexively, realizing a moment later that the gesture isn’t entirely unpleasant. Deciding it's okay, he doesn’t brush George off. His hair is a hopeless case anyway.

“Harry doesn’t need you Weasleys hanging off him all the time,” Draco says, scowling at George’s hand.

Fred sighs. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy.”

“We’re not our brother," George says, hand dropping away.

“The younger one, not the other dozen we have.”

George snorts. “Right, him. Ronald’s been raised on stories of your greatness, Heir Potter.”

“Bless him, he’s a bit starstruck.”

Harry raises a dubious brow, recalling with derision the _The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Adventure!_ novel he found in Obscurus Books. “He does know none of those children’s stories are real, right? I haven’t done any of that.”

“He knows.”

“Or, we hope he does,” George corrects, exchanging an exasperated look with Fred.

“Doesn’t want to believe it, probably.”

“Poor chap.”

“More stubborn than a garden gnome.”

“Mother doesn’t help his obsession either.”

“Ginevra’s even worse.”

George nods at Harry, tone shifting. “You’re going to have to keep an eye out for the youngest of our redheaded brood when she comes next year.”

“I think she’s convinced Mother has already arranged a marriage contract for the two of you.”

Fury and annoyance heat Harry’s stomach. “Is that so?”

“It’s just her fantasizing,” Fred waves aside.

“As far as we know.”

“If anyone would know, though—”

“—it’d be the goblins.”

“Brilliant little buggers.”

“Never cross one of them, Baby Dark Lord.”

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your probably miserable life.”

“Got it,” Harry says, almost smiling at their honest and helpful advice, even if he was already well aware of it.

“So how did Potions go?”

“Was our Master Snake as terrifying as ever?”

“He’s our favorite professor.”

“But don’t tell him that.”

“We’re waiting until he admits we’re his favorite students.”

“It might take another couple of years.”

“But we’ll wear him down eventually.”

Draco can’t resist a chance to nark on a Weasley. “He thinks your family is inept at potion making.”

George and Fred bark out sudden laughter, heads thrown back with its force before they face Draco with feral grins.

“Because we are!”

“Or at least we were.”

“Our dearest mummy never taught us anything before we came to school.”

“Perish the thought we might be prepared and know how to do something for ourselves.”

“Not to worry, Little Malfoy, we have since perfected the exact art of potion making.”

“Can’t let our House’s reputation be sullied, now can we?”

“Certainly not,” Draco attests, scoffing at batch of annoyed Ravenclaws waylaid by their group’s position in the hallway.

“Say," Fred starts. "What plans do you munchkins have now? You’re done with classes, right?”

Glances are traded before Terrence shrugs. “We just finished our assignments and are going to walk around.”

“Just after all that hard work?”

“We no think so!”

“Nobody can explore on an empty stomach!”

Terrence raises his brows at them. “What do you suggest we do, then? Dinner’s not until six, and that is another couple hours yet.”

Fred gasps, hand rising to splay over his heart. “You mean your mummies and daddies didn’t tell you?”

George’s saucer-like eyes make him look equally as scandalized. “My, my, what other secrets are they keeping from you?”

“What are you going on about?” Pansy demands, annoyed at having not ascertained whatever secret they’re withholding.

“I don’t know if we should tell you now.”

“It's a secret.”

“Perhaps we want to watch all of you run around trying to figure it out—”

“—while everyone else enjoys it.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a secret if it’s an open invitation for the whole school,” Pansy snarks.

“Ah, but not the whole school attends.”

“We’ve rarely seen First Years there.”

Pansy huffs. The opportunity to get one over on the other First Years is apparently too good to pass up. “Fine, what do you want to trade?”

Fred’s smile is sharp. “What do you have to trade, young Parkinson?”

Amused by the exchange, Harry tries to work out the secret before the twins finagle a favor out of Pansy. She is his friend, after all.

They said ‘empty stomachs’, so it’s likely to do with food. If dinner’s not being served yet and it’s unlikely students are allowed to go to the kitchens, wherever those may be, then what would be happening now that students could stop by and…

Oh.

Obviously.

So soon he forgets.

“Afternoon tea,” he blurts out, chuffed when Fred and George’s faces turn crestfallen while the First Years show realization and annoyance through their habitual masks.

“Harry!” George wails.

“How could you!” Fred adds, eyes wide with betrayal.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, you’re both imbeciles,” Tracey groans. She’s far too proper to pinch her nose, but it looks to be a near thing.

“We nearly completed our business deal!”

“And from a young Heiress, no less!”

Harry hesitates. Did he mess up? He thought they were just having a bit of fun, and he really was trying to help Pansy out, although Fred and George are kind of his friends too, but not exactly because this is technically only their second time talking, so did he offend them by—

A hand clasps his shoulder and pulls him into a warm body, the action countering his flinch at being touched so abruptly.

“Shoulda known you’d figure it out,” Fred soughs with unnecessary dramatics, chest deflating against Harry’s shoulder.

George shakes his head in woe. “A civilized man such as yourself always knows when it’s teatime.”

Harry’s gaze falls to Fred’s shoes. He’s not civilized. He’s trained.

Feeling rather overwhelmed, Harry blunders over a somewhat discernible response. “Sorry. Mini Dark Lord. Couldn’t resist.”

George and Fred’s cackles startle a passing band of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. While it hadn’t been his intention to make the twins laugh, Harry takes advantage of their distracted state and slips out of Fred’s grasp, stumbling back towards his friends who he knows are less likely to touch him so bodily. Not that he’s upset with Fred, he just needs to escape… whatever that was.

“Are we going to stand around all break talking about tea, or are we going to go have some?” Blaise jeers, expression flat.

Fred and George’s laughter breaks off and Fred winks at Blaise. “We knew you were a smart one, Zabini.”

“You have that look about you.”

“But enough about your dashing good looks.”

“Shall we be off, little snakelets?”

“So long as you never call us that again,” Theo grumbles.

The tea spread is similar enough to what Harry would prepare for the Dursleys, except a few more wizard-favored pastries are incorporated on the trays. Fred and George sit cattycorner from each other on either end of their huddle, so that one of them is close by to any First Year in the group. Fred ropes Terrence, Vince, and Greg into an engaging discussion about pranks whereas George answers Tracey and Draco’s interrogation on the best methods to flatter the professors.

Harry gets sucked into a conversation with Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Milli regarding what could be hidden in the Third Floor Corridor that’s so dangerous. Harry, especially, analyzes their guesses, feeling an intense, exhilarated need to know the secret. But then he reminds himself how foolish it would be to try and break in, considering there are likely wards of some sort to alert Dumbledore if anyone tries to peek.

Clusters of other students come and go through the Great Hall during the hour they enjoy their tea. Some individuals or couples sticking around to read or talk, but as the twins said, no other First Years show up, which, to Harry, is not worth whinging over.

Fred and George depart with a casual warning to not go near the second-floor corridor after dinner. Assuming the twins are up to no good, Harry and the others unanimously agree to not be within three quidditch pitches of the area and decide a stroll through the Tapestry Corridor is a suitable way to waste time until dinner.

An ornate, red and gold runner rug shifts under their feet as they amble down the high-ceilinged corridor. Portraits of all sorts of interesting characters line the walls at a height just tall enough that the First Year entourage has to tilt their heads up when they speak to the immortalized witches and wizards.

“Hello young ones! Welcome to Hogwarts!”

“You’re not lost, are you?”

“Oi! What are you looking at?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s always been like that.”

“Slytherins, eh? So was I.”

“I hope you’re enjoying your classes so far!”

“Close your mouth, you look like a fool.”

Not all of the portraits seem to be polite company, and Harry quickly moves along, not caring for their attitude.

In the corner of the corridor before it cuts right, Harry feels an odd concentration of magic. He tracks it to the portrait of a timid looking wizard, body half turned so that he’s facing the adjacent corridor wall. The man wears a white undershirt with a collar that swoops out like a fountain head over the velvet, burgundy robe that matches the stumpy, cylindrical hat covering his buzzed hair. In the expanse of burgundy on his hat and robe, Harry notices an odd symbol embroidered in gold. It reminds him of the side-profile outline of a ball sitting on a stand.

Curious, he steps closer to the man, second guessing himself when the man hunches his right shoulder, trying to hide behind it. However, a warm, brown eye peeks over, watching Harry where he stops a respectful distance away from the portrait.

“Hello,” Harry says, testing the waters.

The man blinks, shoulder drooping a little. “H-hello, young man.”

Harry smiles. The wizard reminds him a bit of Neville. “My name’s Harry.”

The man looks down at his hands, back at Harry briefly, then back down. Definitely like Neville. “I’m Google Stump.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mister Stump.” Harry’s head tilts, wondering if his inquiries will make the man clam up. “May I ask you something?”

Head rising sharply, Stump looks down at Harry in shock, nodding dumbly after a moment.

Harry keeps his expression and voice curious and open, not wanting to accidentally offend the man. “That image on your robe and hat. Is it a rune?”

Stump’s hand flies to his chest and his chin drops so he can look down, almost as if he forgot what he was wearing. “Oh,” he says. “This?”

 _No, the other one._ “Yes, sir. What is it?”

“Not a r-rune,” Stump says, finally dropping his hand and looking back at Harry. “It’s a s-symbol. For Alch-Alchemy.”

Harry’s eyes brighten. “Alchemy? Did you study it, then?”

“Yes,” Stump says, relaxing infinitesimally. “It was my favorite class; I pursued it after graduating.”

“Have you met Master Aine Ó’Briain? She’s in the Slytherin Common Room, she’s a Master of Alchemy too.”

“Um, uh, no, I’m afraid not,” Stump says, looking to the side. Can portraits flush? “I don’t…I don’t leave…very much.”

Never would have guessed. “That’s okay, Mister Stump. I don’t like socializing much, either.”

Harry looks over when he hears Terrence’s raised voice. He looks to be in a harsh argument with a woman whose blonde curls are piled high on her head. Several of Harry's friends stand by, watching with veiled amusement, while the others have already passed him and are further down the corridor.

“Are they your companions?”

Looking back to Mister Stump, he nods. “My friends. Housemates too.”

“Sl-Slytherin?”

Harry looks down at his green collar and tugs at it with a grin that’s not half sardonic. “Yep.”

Stump nods back, peeking over at Harry’s friends. “I was in Ravenclaw.”

“I have some friends in Ravenclaw. They’re nice.”

That earns him a peculiar glance. “People m-mostly say we’re s-smart.”

Harry shrugs. “Anyone in any House can be anything.”

Stump focuses on him. “That’s an interesting perspective.”

Harry gives a genial smile before his eyes trail down to the design on Stump’s clothing. He really wants to know what it is and hasn’t gotten a straight answer yet. “So, what does that symbol mean in Alchemy?”

Again, Stump’s hand flies to his chest, fingers absently tracing the stitching. He looks at the bottom of his portrait, apparently sheepish. “It’s uh, well, it’s…” When Harry continues to wait patiently with innocent curiosity, Stump drops his hand. “It’s the symbol for death.”

“Oh.” How strange. “Is that why your portrait feels weird?”

“Feels…we-weird?”

“Yes,” Harry gestures to the portrait’s edges. “There’s magic around the edge of your portrait. I don’t feel it on the others.”

Stump looks gobsmacked and now the wizard and witch on either side of his portrait are taking interest in their conversation. “You can… you can feel it?”

“Should I not?”

“I…I’m not sure. No one ever has.”

“What is it?”

“Um, well, nobody re-really uses it, I’ve not told an-anyone the password…”

Excitement sparks in Harry. No _way!_ Did he already find—?! “Are you guarding a secret passage?”

Stump gapes at him. “I..I…”

“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you, boy!” The grey-haired witch crows from his left.

Harry beams at Stump, fingers knotting together. “So, you are? May I see it, please?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Oh, come now, Google, ol’ chap!” The wizard on Stump’s right, a thin man with thinning hair, admonishes. “It’s been too long since you’ve let anyone pass!”

“How long has it been?” Harry questions.

“Since 1923,” the wizard chortles, stirring Stump into crossing his arms, mumbling something as he looks at his toes (assuming he was painted with any).

Harry’s brows meet his hairline. “Seriously?”

“Few have asked,” Stump replies, arms wrapping tighter around his chest.

Of course not, why would they? Who would expect to find a secret passageway here of all places? Granted, that’s perhaps the inspiration behind keeping it _secret_.

“I’ve j-just been d-doing my j-job,” Stump insists.

“Are you really doing your job if you’re not letting anyone use the shortcut?” Harry ponders aloud, earning a guffaw from the wizard and wheezing laugh from the witch.

Stump looks, well, stumped, for a moment, stammering a bit before he manages to mutter, “ _Volo futurus unus_.”

Harry frowns. “Sorry, what does that mean?”

“I want to be alone,” Stump answers, sounding the most confident he has their entire conversation.

“Ah,” Harry says, then sounds it out just for the sake of learning more Latin. “ _Vo-lo. Fu-tur-us. U-nus?_ ”

Cracks appear from nowhere in the stone wall in a floor-to-ceiling rectangle around Stump's portrait. The new door grinds open on an invisible hinge, dust visibly falling and swirling with the current of stale air that creeps out of the opening. Wide-eyed, Harry looks between the crack and Stump, connecting the dots after a second.

“Oh. _Oh!_ The password is… wicked! Thank you!” He turns to his friends and calls out, beckoning both groups when they look his way. “Come see this!”

“What is it?” Theo asks, coming up to his side.

“Is that a secret passageway?” Pansy squeals, rushing forward to open the door further.

Immediately needing to investigate, Harry’s friends enter the dank passageway, incanting _Lumos_ as they go.

About to join them, Harry realizes something. He arches back, looking up at a strained Stump. “Wait, sir, if the death symbol isn’t the reason for the magic, why is it on your clothes?”

“I…I don’t want to talk anymore! I’m sorry, but please go.”

Disappointed, Harry bows his head, recognizing when it’s not worth pushing. “I apologize, Mister Stump, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It was lovely talking to you, thank you for telling me the password.”

Stump clears his throat, eyes averted. “Yes, um, very good, fair thee well.”

“Good day,” Harry says, addressing Stump and the witch and wizard. There’s a handle on the inside of Stump’s portrait and Harry uses it to pull the frame closed, sealing the passageway. Harry watches the glow of the corridor disappear, deciding that he’ll come back and visit Stump another time. He doesn’t want him to feel forgotten.

Plus, he has the new passageway to exploit.

“This is wicked!” Terrence exclaims, voice bouncing off the walls as he holds his illuminated wand high to look at their surroundings. There isn’t much to see: stone walls, stone floors, and a stone ceiling.

“Wickedly filthy,” Daphne lours, dodging a hanging cobweb.

“Where does this lead to, Harry?” Milli asks, pointing her wand to the ground so she doesn’t blind him.

Hit with his sudden idiocy, he absently rubs at the back of his neck. “Oh, um, I’m not exactly sure. He didn’t say.”

Draco rounds on him with an incredulous look. “Harry, if you’ve led us into a deathtrap—”

“Found the exit!”

They all spin towards Vince when he calls out from further up the passageway. Harry notices a slight inclination in the floor as they join Vince and Greg in front of a door that’s invisible except for lines of light forming another rectangle in the wall.

“Is there a handle?” Tracey prompts.

Supplied wand light reveals the handle halfway up the wall and Greg first tugs then shoves the door. It creaks and groans before swinging open. They exit, spilling out into what Harry recognizes as the first-floor corridor. They’re fortunately the only ones there, otherwise the secret passageway would have lost its selfhood absurdly quick.

“Oh, wonderful,” Pansy snarks, brushing a hand down her robes. “So glad we went through all that trouble just to go up a floor. The stairs were a terrible inconvenience anyway.”

Terrence brushes a strand of _something_ from his hair. “Come of it, Pans, we found a _secret passageway_! On our second day!”

“Technically, Harry found it,” Blaise remarks, already collected and tidy, standing with his hands in his pockets and shoulders lax.

“Details!”

“Excuse me, if you’re quite finished, I’d like to be closed, please.”

Harry startles at the polite voice and steps out of the way so he can close the portrait, bringing into view a woman painted with a sparkling, crooked, witch hat.

“Thank you, dear,” she smiles at Harry once her portrait and the surrounding wall have clicked into place once more. “Congratulations on convincing Google to give you the password. He’s a bashful fellow.”

“He was very kind,” Harry comments, wishing that the attention would shift to anything other than him.

Milli has a brilliant idea then. “I think we’re near the Stone Bridge. You lot want to see the sunset, then go down to dinner?”

***

The drop into the abyss is dizzying, but the view from the bridge is incredible. The wind and updraft tug at Harry’s hair and steal his breath, yet he feels calm. Peaceful, even. Streaks of purple, orange, and pink stain the darkening sky. Yellow lights through the castle windows create their own constellation and, as he stands there with quiet, contemplative friends, Harry finds himself rooted in the moment. For long minutes, the world pauses and all that’s required of Harry is to enjoy the vista. A small part of him wishes for the nirvanic sensation to last until he too turns to stone and becomes one with the magic that festoons the air.

It’s a fruitless desire. Soon enough, Daphne complains she’s cold and her stylized hair is teetering close to the stage of looking abominable. The rest of them relent and, as they walk inside, Harry sends a wave of warmth over her person, just so she’s not completely uncomfortable. Her pleased sigh is enough compensation for having to leave his euphoria behind.

Dinner is loud, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs being the main source of furor, but the food is delicious; and their group finishes quick enough to snag a table in the Common Room, starting a game of Exploding Snap with little debate.

Watching his friends turf out smug grins and hissed yelps alike, Harry wonders if the closeness between the bunch of them is healthy. Except for bedtimes and medicals, all eleven of them have been attached at the hip since before the train even left Platform 9 ¾. Having never had friends before and not having much chance to observe other friend groups at Hogwarts yet, he’s not sure if their behavior is normal. At the same time, he doesn’t really care. He likes all his friends. He enjoys their company, and they tolerate his. It’s better than he could have ever hoped for. With a sad thought, he acknowledges that one day, they may lose this camaraderie. Things happen, and people grow apart as much as they grow up. He knows this. He only hopes that his friends never stray far from one another. Or from him.

Cradling singed fingers, Harry says goodnight to his friends, then waves to Master Ó’Briain, **_consumerofnight_** , and **_scalesofwild_**. Daisy is waiting for him in his room, chirping and behaving like an adorable brat as she gets tangled up in his legs while he gets ready for bed.

Despite the endearing cuddle buddy, Harry feels dread build up in his gut. Tomorrow will be the day his darkest secrets may very well come to light. Worse still, it will be to the least desirable people imaginable. After all the years of asking for help and receiving none, resigned to hiding and pretending like he doesn’t exist, it’s the worst punishment he could possibly think of. And there’s no way to avoid it, not without making matters worse.

Predictably, he doesn’t get much sleep.

***

In the morning, gossip of indestructible fireworks set off in the second-floor corridor the night before is not enough to distract Harry from his impending doom. Double Transfiguration is exhausting; Professor McGonagall expands on what they know of the Transformation Formula and they’re given calculation problems focused on the Formula’s elements. It's tedious and not nearly sufficient enough to distract him.

History of Magic, on the other hand, turns out to be an appalling experience. Professor Binns--a freaking ghost!--lectures on the Gargoyle Strike of 1911. The irrelevance and droning deliverance of the lecture encourages Harry’s mind to wander, and the professor soon becomes nothing more than white noise to Harry. Unfortunatley, that means that when class ends and the cool, circulated air of the corridor clears his head, he feels petrified all over again.

He’s not entirely sure what he wrote for his essay assignments while they work in the library, nor what biscuits he ate with afternoon tea. He can’t recall where they go on their walk or what he consumes for dinner, either. All he’s aware of now is that Draco is currently talking to him and they’re standing right outside the dreaded double doors of the Hospital Wing.

“…ry. Harry! For Merlin’s sake, are you even listening to me?”

Harry doesn’t answer; doesn’t think he _can_ answer.

Draco persists. “What’s wrong with you today, you’ve been all out of sorts.”

“Uh…um, I don- I don’t…”

His eyes can’t seem to leave the doors, imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios that will undoubtedly occur once he crosses their threshold.

“You…” Keen as he is, Draco picks up on his timorousness. “Are you afraid to go in there?”

“Not _afraid_ ,” Harry quails, deteriorating disposition negating the denial.

Draco is not a fool. “Since my appointment is first, how about you wait out here? That way you don’t need to be in there longer than necessary. Alright?”

Harry drags in a sharp breath through his teeth, ripping his gaze away from the doors, training them instead on the nearby shimmering window. “Alright.”

“Alright. I’ll make sure the matron doesn’t dally.” With a lasting searching look, Draco slips through the Hospital Wing doors, leaving only a crack when he closes them.

A sharp exhale wracks Harry’s chest and he grips the stone sill under the window, pressing his forehead against the glass. His skin feels sticky against the smooth surface and he focuses on breathing, feeling the moist heat furl along his nose and cheeks with each tremulous expire.

Far too soon, the doors rasp open and Harry regards Draco as he emerges, searching for any sign of distress. Draco is fine, though, save for the hints of annoyance around his eyes.

“It’s simple,” Draco says, approaching Harry with slow motions. “Waves her wand and does something with your file. She was muttering something about organizing her stock as I was leaving, so I think she will make things quick for you. It’ll be fine.”

Clinging to his friend’s reassurances, Harry nods without a word and moves forward. He opens the door further, one hand and one foot still in the corridor as he peers into the room. It’s just as it appeared yesterday, spacious and well-lit with the faint scent of a chemical saturating the air.

There’s one bed partitioned; Harry can’t hear any voices, nor does he see its occupant or the matron.

He spots a door at the back of the Wing, guessing she may be in her office. With nervous steps, he approaches the door, holding his breath when he knocks. There’s a startled sound then shuffling before the door is pulled open, the displaced air ruffling his hair.

“Oh!” Madam Pomfrey exclaims, the beginnings of a frown taking root on her otherwise smooth face. “Mister Potter! I wasn’t expecting you.”

What? He didn’t get the day wrong, did he? Isn’t it Wednesday? “Oh. I’m sorry…I thought… I thought my appointment was today after dinner. Sorry, I’ll go—”

Madam Pomfrey recovers from her startlement and straightens up. “Oh, no, my apologies, dear. I thought the Headmaster would have spoken to you. He brought by the results of your medical exam from before the term started. He wanted to save the both of us some time. I assumed you and Professor Snape knew this and your name was on the list was to avoid questions.”

Harry stares. What is she going on about? Dumbledore? Exam before term?

She shifts, extending her wand behind her. “ _Accio Harry Potter’s file!_ Yes, here we are, I see everything is in order. You’ve kept yourself a healthy young man, Mister Potter, I commend you and your guardians. Though it says here your relatives don’t believe in inoculations.” She stops, head tilting down as she studies him. “You are, of course, within your right to request any missing inoculations now, Mister Potter. We provide them for any muggleborn children who aren’t able to receive them before starting here. As it stands, very few children ever require them from us; our magical community recognizes how important they are, unlike the muggles. Or so I hear.”

_What?_

“What?”

Madam Pomfrey lowers the file, assessing him. “Your inoculations, young man. Shots? Do I have your permission to administer them to you?”

“Shots?”

“Yes, Mister Potter, your shots.” The frown is back. “Are you quite alright?”

_What?_

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’re alright, or yes to the shots?”

“Yes.” Is the room supposed to be spinning?

He hears her sigh, the sound the same every adult makes when they’re exasperated with a child. “Very well, Mister Potter, please sit on one of the beds; I will be over in a moment.”

“Yes,” he says, robotically turning on his heel to sit on the bed closest to the door. The numb feeling is back, making his thoughts sticky and cloying, impossible to piece together.

_What?_

“Mister Potter, I am going to have to ask you to remove your outer robe and roll up your sleeve, please.”

His hands move to do just that before they freeze. “No.” _No, he can’t let her see, he can’t let anyone see! No!_

“Pardon me?”

“No.” His fingers curl around fabric, keeping it in place.

“No, you do not want the inoculations?”

“No.” _Please, no!_

“Mister Potter, I do not appreciate my time being wasted anymore than I am sure you do. I have a patient to attend to and potions to stock. If you change your mind regarding your inoculations at a later time, then I will be more than glad to assist you and we can update your file. However, if that will be all for now, then I bid you a good evening.”

The presence at his side leaves and Harry feels cold, alone, and confused.

_What?_

“Ah, that was quick.”

How did he get back in the corridor? “Yes.”

The pale face in front of him is blurry. “Harry? You’re being weirder than usual. Did something happen?”

 _Yes_. “No.”

“Let’s go to the Common Room.” The face doesn’t look happy. "I think you should lay down."

“Yes.”

Blurs of colors and smells and sounds go by and still Harry can’t acknowledge them, can’t feel, can’t _think_.

_Mr. H. Potter. The Cupboard Under the Stairs._

_“_ Y _our blasted headmaster is the one who dumped him on our doorstep and made the brat our responsibility in the first place!”_

_“All yer mail goes to Dumbledore!”_

_“Well of course he was going to hold on to it for yeh, Harry, yeh didn’t need to know about it, now did yeh?”_

_“Professor Dumbledore said not to talk to anyone.”_

_“I thought the Headmaster would have spoken to you.”_

Harry sits bolt upright in his bed, having no idea how he got there or why his room is dark.

None of that matters, no, because there’s only one thought at the forefront of his mind:

Dumbledore knows. He _has_ known about _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatcha think?
> 
> I want to thank you all so much for reading this and having patience while I work to make this story the best I possibly can.  
> The next chapter is already mostly written and will be posted around New Years.  
> Cheers!


	12. Only He Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rolling in the New Year with 20,000 hits, thank you all so much!!

_He knows!_

He knows! He knows! He _bloody_ _KNOWS_!

It’s so obvious; how could he not have _seen!?_

Harry's mind is racing because he's finally sinking in that if people looked too closely at him, then they’d ask questions about the scars, about his size, about his _everything_. And where would those questions lead them?

To the man who sentenced Harry to Hell.

So, Dumbledore did something horribly clever.

He faked Harry’s medical file.

Strings cut, Harry’s head falls into his hands and he emits a strangled groan that resonates around his fragile chest.

A faked file is the only possible explanation. If Slytherins could bypass Professor Snape’s medical exam requirement by submitting their own pre-term medical results; there’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that Draco and the others’ families would have had a private healer, or _anyone else,_ complete one so that they may spare their poor children of such a demeaning experience. Not once had the others mentioned they’d known they could have a medical exam before term, heck, they didn’t even _know_ about it until the first evening. Obviously, their parents think it’s a perfectly acceptable practice and have nothing against it.

They actually care about their children’s wellbeing.

But what about Pomfrey? She’s supposed to care about all children, no matter their House, isn’t she? How could she not realize, how could she not _see?_ She's a medical professional who works with children, for Merlin's sake, she should have noticed how strange he was acting. Either she’s been tricked as he has, or she’s been somehow convinced into…

A sickening thought occurs to him at that moment. Dumbledore had been routing money from Harry’s accounts to the Dursleys all these years. Did that mean…Had he… had he _paid them to…?_

Sitting in his bed, Harry doesn’t realize he’s panting until a paw taps his chin. Blindly reaching, he bundles Daisy close. After a few moments, it’s clear that not even her purring form vibrating against his chest can assuage the righteous, insurmountable fury mounting there.

He would wager his family’s gold that Dumbledore indeed paid the Dursleys to hurt him. If Dumbledore actually cared about Harry, then he would have stopped by and checked on him—at least _once!_ —during those ten miserable years. Yes, there’s no doubt in Harry’s mind, Dumbledore knew _something._ At best, he’s negligent. At worst…at worst he’s as guilty as those monsters.

Dumbledore was already top of his shit list for the man’s un-bloody-believable gall to leave him with muggles and steal his fortune; now there’s _this?_

This.

This is unforgiveable.

And now he’s provided Harry with the perfect excuse not to have his humiliation come to light.

No, _no_ , he refuses to be grateful to the man, _he won’t!_ Harry didn’t want the exam in the first place, of course he didn’t, but the fact that _Dumbledore_ is the one coming to his rescue, and in such a way…

There’s a rattling sound and Harry feels a shudder run through him; looking around to see that every single object in his room is shaking. He can taste electricity on his teeth and realizes that his magic is lashing out in the only way he can express himself.

A frightened _mrow!_ is what brings his better judgement forward. Finding Daisy now in the middle of the room, back arched and tail raised, eyes popping as she looks for an escape from the commotion. Feeling awful for frightening her, Harry feels shame come over him in cold, gulping squeezes. His magic droops, then stills, by no means docile, but restrained for the moment.

Aching, he slumps off the bed, holding his hands out to offer Daisy a safe place of comfort. “I’m sorry, Daisy, I’m sorry, it’s okay, I won’t do that again, I’m sorry…”

Although the fur on her back is laying flat once more, she completely avoids him, skittering around in a wide arc before scampering under the foot end of the bed. He hears her slink around and leans to see under, spotting her luminous eyes stick out in the darkness when she stops in the far corner of the bed.

“Daisy?” he whispers, stretching out a hand in a futile attempt. His heart is in his throat, because the scene is all too familiar, reminding him of the last time he monumentally screwed up.

This time, Daisy does not forgive him, doesn't cuddle against his chest like she had after Forest...

Swallowing thickly, Harry sits up, bracing his back against the bed, ignoring how his eyes prickle with heat.

Merlin, he doesn’t deserve anything, does he? He’ll just ruin it. Idiot, Idiot, IDIOT! Filthy, disgusting, freak—

_Useless._

He makes a strangled noise on his next exhale. _No! NO!_ This isn’t his fault, it’s Dumbledore’s! He’s been betrayed, he’s been _tricked,_ and he needs to _fix. It._

He will fix this.

A cold certainty settles over him then, and the few tears that had escaped are swiftly wiped away, forgotten as he gets back into bed. Closing his eyes, he forces himself to sleep.

He has a new mission in life.

And he’ll be damned if he isn’t ready when the time comes to get his revenge.

***

“You’re feeling better today.”

Harry finishes chewing his bite of buttered toast before answering Draco. “I am. Thank you for yesterday. Sorry about all…that.”

“It’s fine.” Draco pours himself more pumpkin juice, passing it to Greg when he asks for it. “Did something happen?”

Oh, _something_ happened, alright. “I don’t like doctors.” That’s a safe lie, isn’t it?

“Healers.”

“Healers,” he concedes, remembering the proper wizarding term.

“But she didn’t do anything to you, did she?”

“No.” _She_ didn’t.

“Good.”

And that’s that. Draco doesn’t bring it up again, and neither do any of their friends, which Harry is infinitely grateful for, even though he’s under no illusion that they didn’t notice his odd behavior. He also adamantly refuses to let himself look anywhere near the direction of the Head Table, not knowing how he would react if he caught even a glimpse of _Him_.

After Harry apologizes for forgetting to write a response to his parents, Draco sends Hedwig away with a piece of bacon, saying to come back tomorrow for both of their letters.

When they’re finished with their meals, their troupe goes for a stroll around the grounds during their break first period. They all sit together during Charms class, once again set to discussing and practicing _Wingardium Leviosa, Alohomora,_ and _Spongify._ Today, on a positive note, nearly all the Ravenclaws manage to cast the spells with the ease the Slytherins continue to demonstrate. It gives Harry hope that perhaps the class won’t be a complete drag.

He works with Vince during Herbology, pleased with his friend’s careful hands during the aconite root harvesting process. After lunch, Harry claims the back-corner desk of the Defense classroom as soon as he walks in, hoping to avoid a repeat of the peculiar tugging sensation he experienced during the first class. The smell of garlic is just as potent, but the mysterious pull thankfully isn’t. It is, however, still noticeable enough for Draco to give him side-eye throughout the class.

They have a four-hour window until dinner, during which time Vince and Blaise beg off to complete their medicals before joining the rest of them in the library for homework.

Under Draco’s unmoving stare, Harry writes a reply to the Malfoys, keeping it simple as he is still entirely unused to the novel of conversing with an adult who actually gives even a sliver of a damn about him.

_Dear Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius,_

_Thank you for your kind words. I am very happy with my sorting._

_Some Gryffindors have already stirred up trouble, but Draco, our friends, and a couple older Slytherins took care of it. I will still keep my guard up._

_Classes have been alright, a bit boring, though tomorrow should be interesting. We will be brewing our first potion and have our first flying lesson. We’ll tell you how it goes in our next letter._

_How are you two doing? Anything interesting come up since we left?_

_Yours,_

_Harry_

After dinner, all the girls have their meetings with Professor Snape in consecutive order, so the boys meander until ten till eight. The girls reunite with them on the way to the Astronomy Tower, revealing that their Head of House only asks them a few questions and helps them set goals for the term. To Harry, the news is another weight off his shoulders, and is much relieved to think that he won’t need any _extremely unwanted_ interference to get through the meeting.

Conversations dwindle as they huff and puff up the Astronomy Tower staircase, getting their first glance of the classroom. It’s two levels, the bottom filled with desks that face the teacher’s and her various teaching equipment. The top level is a ring with the slabs of the wall cut out for students to freely view the sky with their telescopes. Thankfully, there’s a ward surrounding the area, eliminating exposure to the elements of the night. The staircase continues up one more level, assumedly to the top of the tower. They’re told they’re not allowed up there under any circumstance and that they’ll be required to bring their telescopes with them every class, as there isn’t a designated space for them like their cauldrons in the Potions classroom.

Their lesson consists of a lecture from Professor Sinistra about the basics of planetary systems and what they’ll be reviewing over the course of the term. It’s interesting if a bit simple, and they take notes by candlelight. As the lesson progresses, the candles’ mesmerizing bobs, accompanied with the lateness of the hour, stirs many yawns from Harry and his friends. Fortunately, they do not share the class with another House and are able to sleepily tread down to the dungeons in peace.

To his immeasurable relief, Daisy sidles up to him immediately when he enters the Common Room, butting her face against his after he scoops her up. He says goodnight to his friends and talks to Daisy about this and that while he prepares for bed, holding her close when she crawls under the sheets.

He gets a full night’s rest, even sleeping in until six thirty, something that proves to be a very good thing, for Professor Snape decides an oral pop quiz is a splendid way to start their Friday morning double period.

“Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Huh, maybe this quiz will be easy after all. “It makes a sleeping potion, Professor. The Draught of Living Death.”

Harry doesn’t like the glint in the professor’s eyes. He doesn’t know what it means, and that spells danger.

“Mister Finnigan!” Then again, maybe he just misunderstood? The man is very difficult to read. “Where might I find a bezoar?”

It’s the boy with the wide mouth. “Uh…is that a type of bird, sir?”

“Five points from Gryffindor for being unprepared for class. Miss Davis! Do you have an answer?”

“A bezoar can be found in the stomach of a goat, sir. It will stop most poisons.”

“Indeed. And where, Mister Higgs, can you find this information?”

“On page two of the textbook, Professor.”

“Five points to Slytherin. _Clearly,_ some of you don’t have the wherewithal to actually _read_ your textbook before coming to class.”

“Oi, I read the book! I did the essay you assigned, didn’t I?” A shirty Finnigan protests.

“Another five points for you disrespect, Mister Finnigan,” Professor Snape snaps, expression unchanging. “Miss Dunbar, perhaps you can gain those points back. Tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Fay responds without missing a beat. “There is no difference, Professor, they’re the same plant. Also known as aconite.”

“One point to Gryffindor.”

“Hey, but you said—!”

“Mister Weasley, interrupt my class again and we will be testing one of your potions on that disgusting vermin currently hanging out of your robe pocket.”

Harry and his classmates turn, craning their necks to look at what vermin Professor Snape could possibly be talking about. There’s a squeak followed by a nearly identical sound from Ronald as he shoves his hand into his pocket. Harry spots a writhing bulge in the fabric against his hip. Did he bring a mouse or something to class?

Maybe Draco could start bringing Artemis around as well. Harry’s been remiss in not asking about her wellbeing this week. Perhaps her presence will make the absence of secure, scaly coils around his person a less prevalent ache in his chest all the time.

Maybe then it would be easier to forget.

Professor Snape continues with the quiz, asking everyone in the class one question that is easy to answer if they’ve read the textbook. Granger, Harry notices, looks about ready to pop while waiting to be called on. Professor Snape might have noticed this, because she’s the last person to be questioned. At this point, her hand is a permanent fixture in the air, and even after she answers correctly, she loses Gryffindor ten points for “being a graceless distraction”.

Finnigan, Ronald, Brown, Perks, and Rivers, the hunched, blonde boy, all fail the quiz, making the Slytherins feel inherently self-satisfied as they’re ordered to grab their cauldrons and begin their potions.

Harry re-reads the instructions before he even spares a glance at the provided ingredients at his station, noting once more what colors the potions should turn and at what point he needs to remove the cauldron from the fire.

Harry is just pouring his horned slugs into his orange concoction when there’s a _BANG!_ followed by wet splatters and pained yelps as a putrid smell fills the air. Heart racing and shoulders hunched, Harry turns to the back of the room where all eyes are watching Ronald and Rivers frantically swipe at their skin where globs of a red substance leave behind blossoming boils.

“Idiots!” Professor Snape yells out over their cries of pain. Harry’s blood freezes even though the man’s fury isn’t directed at him. He watches as, with quick wand work, the professor vanishes the melted remains of the cauldrons and the mess left behind on the table and floor. “You! Finnigan! Ten points for not stopping them from putting the porcupine quills in before removing their cauldrons from the fire as the book _explicitly_ states. Take them to the infirmary. You three receive zeros for the day.”

Finnigan’s protruding ears flush red in his anger, but the whimpers from his friends are apparently enough to deter him from arguing, and the three of them leave in short order.

“As for the rest of you,” Professor Snape says, glaring at them all. “You have twenty minutes to finish your potions and submit an acceptable sample to me. If any more cauldrons explode, your entire table will suffer my displeasure.”

The remainder of the period is stressful, to say the least. Harry stays hunched over his cauldron, half expecting Professor Snape to come seize him by the neck and shake him, demanding to know why he’s an idiot, too.

But it never happens, and no more potions are ruined. Harry is rather pleased when his potion not only turns red at the last step but even manages a flushed pink when he dares to follow the book’s sidenote and keep it on the heat a bit longer to make it more potent. He lets Draco take his labeled sample up with his own, unwilling to be near the man in case he takes his persisting irritation out on him.

With growing dread, he remembers his meeting scheduled with the man this evening. He desperately hopes he’s in a better mood by then.

After that chaotic lesson, History of Magic proves to be exceptionally uneventful. Though exhausted from remaining hyper-alert throughout Potions, Harry is at least able to pay better attention today. He starts to take notes before having a sense of déjà vu, realizing that the ghost is reciting nearly word-for-word passages from the book. After that point, he ignores the lecture and re-reads the textbook, amused when his classmates occasionally nod off to sleep.

Lunch marks the end of their first week of academic classes. They have a free period afterwards that they spend - surprise, surprise - in the library, finishing all their assignments so that their weekend is free.

And then, it’s finally the time of the week they’ve all been waiting for: flying lessons.

“Alright, you lot?” Terry hollers, spotting the incoming Slytherins over another Ravenclaw boy’s shoulder.

“Terry!” A girl hisses. Turpin, Harry thinks, recognizing her from Charms class. “Are you mad? Talking to the _Slytherins_?”

“They’re my friends, Lisa,” he frowns at her. “I’ve known them for years.”

Turpin looks scandalized. “You’re…! You’re _friends_ with…!”

“Having trouble stringing a sentence together, Turpin?” Blaise drawls, offended on behalf of all Slytherins. “Here I was thinking you were supposed to be intelligent.”

“Hey,” Terry warns lightly, turning a stricter moue on Turpin. “Lay off, Lisa.”

“But, but they’re _bad!_ ”

“They’re _eleven_ , for heaven’s sake,” another girl says, stepping forward. Harry recognizes her to be the one who made her lock crash to the floor during their first Charms class. “Don’t believe what those Gryffindor boys were saying.”

At her words, the Slytherins react in disgust, discretely of course. “Should have known,” Terrence scoffs, “the Gryffindorks have no sense of propriety.”

Distant laughter rings across the grounds.

“Speak of the thestrals,” Tracey muses, all of them turning to see red and yellow clad students approaching.

Fay detaches from the group, sprinting the remaining distance and cheering, “Finally, finally, finally!”

“Would you calm down?” Pansy sneers when the bubbly girl prances around the group of Slytherins. “You’re acting like a foolish Hufflepuff.”

“Hey, we resemble that remark,” Ernie grins, coming up behind them.

There’s more laughter and Harry peers around to see Neville in the center of the Hufflepuffs, grinning alongside Abbott, Bones, and Smith. The sight makes the corner of Harry’s mouth turn up, not even diminished when Smith spots him and sighs away his cheer.

He nods his head in greeting, drawing Bones, Abbott, and Neville’s attention to Harry as well. “Alright there, Potter?”

“Smith,” Harry greets back, still annoyed with the boy’s attitude on the train. “Good first week?”

“’s alright,” Smith shrugs. “Glad it’s over.”

“ _Almost_ over,” Abbott corrects, gesturing to the area at large. “We still have to get through this.”

Harry seizes the opportunity to become more familiar with the girls. “You don’t like to fly?”

Abbott gives him a sheepish smile. “It’s not my favorite activity. I’ll be up there in the stands for games, don’t get me wrong, I’m just not crazy about it.”

Bones is just as sociable as Harry remembers her to be. “Do you enjoy flying, Heir Potter?”

Now it’s his turn to look sheepish. “Yeah. I flew for the first time this summer and liked it. Haven’t really played the game itself, just flown for fun.”

“I heard you took to it like a grindylow to water,” Ernie says, joining their conversation with a wide grin. “We’re going to have to warn Cedric about you.”

Harry tilts his head at the teasing. “Cedric?”

“Cedric Diggory,” Bones answers, and Harry notices her cheeks are turning pink. “He’s the Hufflepuff seeker. A fourth year.”

“He’s like… _amazing_ from what the others say.” Wait, why are Abbott’s cheeks darkening too? Surely they can’t be sunburn yet?

Smith, Ernie, and Neville all groan or look away from the girls, seemingly annoyed. Harry looks between them all in confusion, trying to decipher the reason behind their reactions.

“Heir Diggory’s got a bit of a fan club,” Smith tells him, eyes rolling almost obscenely. “We’ve only been here a week and we can already tell he’s one of the most popular boys in school.”

“Oh, we can _definitely_ tell _why_ ,” Abbott giggles, covering her mouth and nose, leaning into Bones who also hides her mouth behind her hand, tittering away with her friend.

Harry frowns. Were the girls this peculiar when he met them in the Menagerie? He remembers that they hugged him, a near stranger, just fifteen minutes after meeting him, and decides that, yes, girls are weird. That fact that it was the first human hug he could ever remember receiving is a whole other hippogriff.

He looks to Neville in hopes of an explanation, only to find him with a helpless expression as well. Before he can further the discussion, a loud voice snaps all the First Years out of their conversations.

“Enough chit chat! All of you, next to a broom! Quickly, now, quickly, there’s much to get through today.”

With hawk-like eyes, Madam Hooch, as she demands they call her, watches them all hurry to one of the twenty brooms laying in the grass. Some elbowing and whisper-arguments occur before all forty-two First Years stand in groups of two or three, looking to their professor for instructions.

“As this class is only mandatory for First Years, you will all be taking turns using the brooms our school budget has so generously gifted us. You will listen to my instructions carefully and will not deviate from them unless you wish to have a one-way trip to your Head of House’s office. There is to be no complaining and no showing off. You do as I tell you and nothing more. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Rings out, earning a sharp, approving nod from Madam Hooch.

“Excellent. Now then. One at a time, step up to the left side of your broom, hold out your right hand and, with confidence, say ‘up!’. When you have it in hand, wait for further instructions.”

Harry steps back to let Draco go first. He watches his friend summon the broom first go, the wood leaping to his hand with a satisfying smack. Looking around, he spots similar results with Terrence, Tracey, Vince, Smith, Fay, Ernie, Terry, Finnigan, and Ronald. The other eleven students from each House struggle. He notices that for Granger and the Patil twin that was sorted into Gryffindor, their brooms don’t budge or only weakly roll on the ground.

“Not to worry if it doesn’t respond,” Madam Hooch calls out, watching them all with fists planted on her hips, her robes hanging off her upper arms like raven wings. “All of you take your broom in hand, swing a leg over, and keep your feet firmly planted with your hands holding the broom in a tight grip. I will come around and correct your grip if needed.”

She does exactly that, getting into an argument with Ronald when he insists that the grip he’s been using all his life is what his brother, Charlie, a supposed star Seeker, taught him. Madam Hooch somehow sings Charlie’s praises while managing to subtly reprimand Ronald, and the boy’s furious expression makes smug grins appear on many of the Slytherins.

“Now, I want you to lift up with your toes, hover for a minute, then push forward to touch back down. You will go no higher than a meter, understand?”

Voicing their comprehension, Harry and the other grounded First Years watch as their partners hover with various degrees of success. Draco makes it appear easy, even taking a hand off the broom to rest on his thigh, watching the others with a bored, superior look.

Granger and a few others struggle, their brooms outright refusing to levitate. Hooch goes around to each of them, offering advice and criticism until most of them are able to hover, even if they look terrified.

They’re all ordered to land, a few stumbling on weak knees. Satisfied that they now have the feel for it, Madam Hooch orders them to face outwards and hover once more, this time leaning forward so that their broom flies in a straight line for a few meters before they lean back and land.

Regardless of how easy it sounds, several students bonk into each other, veer off course or lose their balance and topple over. Those at ease with flying watch the chaos with polished relish. Once everyone is on their feet and waiting in line, Madam Hooch instructs them to turn their broom in a tight circle in place and then fly back to their starting points.

Again, several topple overboard, resulting in a few abrasions and grumbles. It is with both relief and dismay that they pass the brooms on to their partners.

Draco hands the chipped broom over to Harry with a sarcastic, “enjoy”.

They’re made to repeat the same process as their fellow students, except when they’re ordered to hover, panicked voices start to rise.

Harry looks over to find shoes at eye level. He tracks them up, watching with the rest of the class as a terrified Neville rises higher and higher into the air. They all gawp up at him, Madam Hooch waving her arms uselessly, wand nowhere in sight. Her cries are nearly drowned out by the students’.

“Mis…Mis…Mister Longbottom! Come down here at once!”

“Neville!”

“Push down!”

“Lean forward!”

“Just jump, you’ll be fine!”

It’s Neville’s frantic cry of “HELP!” that stirs Harry into action. He yanks the broom close to his chest and simultaneously shoves up, rocketing up the ten-some meters where Neville is still gaining height.

More yells burst forth beneath him, going ignored as he slows his approach. Neville’s eyes are closed, knuckles white and knees clenched tight around the broom. Harry draws up next to him and, after a moment of debating, puts a hand on Neville’s back, gripping his sweater.

Neville cries out, startling as Harry expected him to. His hand subdues the abrupt movement, keeping Neville and the broom from reacting violently.

“Neville! Neville, it’s okay, it’s alright,” he calms, grip on his own broom controlled and sure.

“H-Harry?” Neville whimpers, blinking at him with tear-filled eyes. “What? Wha…How…?”

“It’s alright,” Harry repeats, glad that Neville’s broom has stopped moving and is instead waiting alongside Harry’s. “I’m going to steer us back down. Just hold on and don’t panic, okay?”

Neville looks down and immediately regrets it, eyes squeezing closed, skin paling. “Okay, okay,” he whispers.

Harry pats his back twice then moves to grip Neville’s broom below Neville’s hands. He briefly surmises that Neville’s high grip on the handle is likely the cause for his ascent, as he must have tensed up, triggering the sensitive charms into a climb. He shakes the thought away, focusing on what needs to happen.

“Here we go,” he says for Neville’s sake, adjusting his posture to direct their brooms in a gentle glide back down to the ground. He avoids where the class is gathered, realizing that their shouts have lessened now that neither of them appear to be in imminent danger. The voyage is awkward, but successful. As soon as their feet touch the grass, Neville is engulfed by his Housemates.

“Neville!”

“Are you okay?”

“You’re supposed to lean down!”

“Why did you lift off?”

“That was wicked!”

“You were so high!”

“I was so scared!”

“Does anything hurt?”

Harry backs away from the mothering hens, only to be surrounded himself.

Draco’s presence is the first one he registers. “Just had to show off your flying, didn’t you?”

Harry barks a laugh, flinching when an arm settles over his shoulders. Blaise leans on him with an expression of fake pondering. “Now what was that you told me about Gryffindors being the ones with a sense of adventure, Chosen One?”

Harry snorts, cocking a brow at the taller boy. “I hardly think helping someone not fall to their death counts as an adventure.”

Blaise’s grin is feral. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Harry shakes his head, attention falling on to Theo. His friend’s expression is crumpled and tense, eyes searching. “Are you alright?”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen such an expression on Theo before. He finds that it warms something deep within him. “I’m alright,” he says with a soft smile.

Theo studies him for a moment longer before nodding, stepping aside when a flurry of robes descends upon them.

“Mister Potter!” Madam Hooch scowls. “That was an incredibly dangerous stunt you pulled!”

Harry snaps his expression to an impassive mask. “My classmate was in danger, ma’am. He was going to get hurt.”

“It is not up to you to help your classmate, Mister Potter, I had the situation under control.”

Harry bites back a scathing remark and instead stares at her, entirely unapologetic.

Her eyes narrow and Harry thinks she looks remarkably like a bird of prey deciding whether he’ll make a good meal or not. “Fifteen points from Slytherin for endangering yourself, Mister Potter. Be glad I am not sending you to Professor Snape’s office.” Behind her back, Harry’s fellow Slytherins sneer. Harry barely avoids doing so as well, though his stomach does drop.

He _lost_ points for helping his classmate? And so many points, too! The other Slytherins are going to vilify him! He gulps then, realizing that Professor Snape is going to find out and probably know by the time Harry sees him after dinner.

Shit.

Ignorant of his turbulent thoughts, Madam Hooch barks new orders. “Back to your positions, everyone, we still have an hour of class left.”

She stops Neville and asks if he’s injured then orders him to be more careful and offers him the choice to sit out for the remainder of the period. Despite being obviously shaken, Neville declines the offer as he and Harry are both shepherded by their Housemates back to the waiting Ravenclaws and Gryffindors.

Harry hears several snide remarks sent Neville’s way and turns his worst glare on Ronald for loudly whispering to Rivers, “surprised the broom got that high with his fat arse on it”. Seething, he reaches his magic out, wrapping it around the broom in Rivers’s hand and jolts it up, hitting Ronald’s nose with an unforgiving whack.

Many howls and confused yells later, Gryffindor is down ten points and Ronald is sent to the Hospital Wing for the second time that day when Madam Hooch tells him she can’t fix his broken nose. Rivers again accompanies him, and class finally proceeds with what Harry thinks is a much more cheerful note.

There are no further catastrophes, and they take turns practicing stops and flying in circles. For Harry and the others proficient in flying, it’s a waste of time, though a nice way to blow off steam. Madam Hooch ends with the announcement that, should they desire to get more experience, they are all welcome to join the school’s Flying Club that starts the first week of October.

Chattering excitedly about the prospect, the First Years disperse for their free period. Harry’s friends are finally free to openly take the mickey out of him, teasing that they’re never going to let him live his heroics down. He is none too pleased when Terry then Fay join in, abandoning their Housemates in favor of both complimenting and ribbing him.

“Yes, alright, thank you,” he sighs, missing the sun’s heat when they step inside the castle. “I get it now.”

“Harry!”

He looks up at the distant voice, surprised yet pleased to find Neville approaching them, Ernie on his heels.

Neville’s eyes flit between the ground and Harry’s friends before resting on him. “Thank…thank you. For helping. I don’t… I don’t know what…”

“You’re welcome, Neville,” Harry accepts, putting him out of his anxious misery and enjoying the unsaid permission to call Neville by his first name. He’d only used it instead of ‘Heir Longbottom’ when they were in the air as a strategy to comfort him, so it makes his chest swell with a giddy feeling that Neville now seems okay with it continuing. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Right…right,” Neville responds, unsure. The attention from their audience obviously isn’t helping his nerves.

Ernie doesn’t seem to mind. He claps Neville on the back with a grin, the gesture becoming a sincere smile when he turns to Harry. “Seriously, Harry, thank you for doing something. I didn’t see Hooch’s wand anywhere and the rest of us were a bit frozen, I think.”

“You’d think there would be countermeasures in place to make sure none of us get too high during class,” Terry ponders aloud, arms crossing over his chest. “Or that she’d be able to do something more than just watch and wait.”

“Maybe she planned on _Wingardium_ -ing him once he fell,” Fay suggests.

Harry is not at all pleased with that plan. He had briefly considered using magic to pull Neville and his broom back down, but he hadn’t been sure if the charms would allow that, or if anyone would notice his wandless magic and question him. Manipulating Rivers’s broom was risky enough. Well worth it, but risky.

Ernie frowns. “He shouldn’t be falling in any case. None of us should be.”

“I’m sure it happens every year,” Terrence shrugs from the far side of their cluster. “Worse comes to worst, he would have been sent to the Hospital Wing.”

“Not helpful, Terrence,” Milli snarks, looking close to thumping his arm when Neville appears sick at Terrence’s tactless comment.

“Yeah, he would have also suffered twice-over when Weasley eventually came in,” Ernie says, grin a little too sharp. “That bloke is obnoxious.”

“Bit odd the broom reacted like that,” Pansy snickers. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“You think the broom did it itself?” Fae asks, turning to her with raised brows. “I thought Oliver was trying to get him to be quiet and was a bit too harsh with the broom.”

Harry struggles to keep his face blank and not show the vengeful, purring beast curling in his belly.

“Does it matter? He got what he deserved.”

Ernie’s head tilts in acquiescence. “Still weird though, you have to admit.”

“Meh,” is all Pansy has to say.

“Can we have tea now?” Vince asks, changing gears.

“Tea?” Terry questions.

Greg grunts at Vince in annoyance. “Was supposed to be a secret.”

“Whatever, I’m hungry,” Vince says, unapologetic.

“What are you going on about?” Fay demands, looking between them. “Do they serve afternoon tea here?”

Pansy groans, breaking her ladylike composure. “Now you’ve done it, Vince.”

“We already knew about it,” Ernie interrupts, both he and Neville looking, of all things, smug. “They serve it in the Common Room. Upper years told us.”

“Bloody Hufflepuffs,” Greg grumbles.

“Language, Greg,” Daphne admonishes, addressing Pansy who’s yet again scowling at a bouncing Fay. “Leave it, Pansy. Who knows, perhaps the hooligans will be less annoying during dinner if they’re not completely starving.”

“We’re not hooligans,” Terry denies, affronted for his House.

“I meant the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs,” Daphne corrects.

“Ah, yeah, no kidding. Can hardly hear myself think during meals. Do you know how hard it is to reach a point where a Ravenclaw can’t hear their own thoughts?”

“My point exactly,” Daphne says, satisfied she’s justified her argument.

Vince seems fed up with their dillydallying and marches ahead, Greg at his side. “We’re going,” he declares on his way past.

“Right behind you,” Terrence says, sending them all a look before following the two hulking figures.

“Yes, alright,” Pansy concedes, exceedingly put-out. “Come along if you want.”

“Yay! Tea!” Fay cheers, bounding after Terrence. Predictably, Pansy sneers at her retreating back.

“I’ll go tell my Housemates,” Terry says, taking off after his friends.

“Ours too,” Ernie adds, steering Neville in the direction of the Hufflepuffs. “We’ll all have a tea party! It’ll be fun!”

“This is going to be awful,” Pansy proclaims, glaring at everything and everyone.

***

Their ‘tea party’ is, as it turned out, not completely awful. In fact, Harry thinks it might be the most fun he’s had all week.

The handful of upper years in the Hall send dirty looks at the cackling First Years as conversation and narking alike ebb and flow between heated debates and hyperbolized stories. Seated between Draco and Theo, Harry falls into a discussion with Ravenclaw Michael Corner and Hufflepuff Kevin Entwhistle on the pros and cons of introducing Runes and Arithmancy earlier into the Hogwarts’s curriculum. In the next moment, he’s literally dragged further down the table by Fay to help her argue with her fellow Gryffindors, Dean Thomas and Sophie Roper, that quidditch is better than football. Having not played much of either, Harry mostly enjoys the entertainment before him as the devoted athletes become more and more impassioned with each piece of evidence they procure.

Needless to say, the atmosphere drifts far from that associated with a proper afternoon tea sitting, and all of them, having been ushered over to the Hufflepuff table by the demanding Badgers, remain there until their plates clear away and hundreds of place settings appear on all four tables.

Not all the First Years are present; most of the Lions and a handful of the Ravens are absent from the festivities, yet they’re a large enough group to startle Professor McGonagall and three other professors that are the first to arrive on the scene for dinner. Around them, the hungriest of upper years stare agog, eyes nearly popping out of their head at the sight before them. Eventually, the rowdy First Years realize the scene they’re causing, as well as the lateness of the hour, and break apart to their respective tables just in time for dinner to materialize on platters.

Emotions soaring, Harry listens and adds to the light banter bouncing between his friends, enjoying how the students that had been absent from tea obviously notice an energized tint to the Hall’s atmosphere, but are ignorant of its source.

As the last bites of pudding are consumed, Harry’s good mood sours and he resigns himself to his impending predicament.

Vince, Blaise, he, and Draco have their meetings with Professor Snape whereas Terrence, Greg, and Theo have their medicals with Madam Pomfrey, the last to do so. The girls are in the clear for both and make plans to reconvene in the Common Room once the boys are finished with their individual tasks.

On the way to the dungeons, Harry lets the other three’s conversation fall to static, running through all the different scenarios he might encounter once he’s alone with Professor Snape, and how he’s going to get out of the discussion unscathed.

“Mister Zabini,” Professor Snape says, opening his office door the moment they draw even. “You first. The rest of you, remain quiet.”

With a wink to them, Blaise disappears within the office, the door cutting off his jovial “good evening, Professor”.

Harry sighs, resting against the opposite wall when he consequently feels lightheaded.

“What’s wrong?” Vince asks in the gruff manner of his.

Harry blinks away spots, forcing a blasé grin. “Nothing. Ate too much.”

Vince grunts and nods, turning away. Draco, however, does not.

The boy’s eyes narrow. “You hardly ate anything, Harry.”

Harry makes a face. “I ate everything on my plate.”

“Which is the same amount one might have as a first course.”

“It was enough for me.”

“That’s the problem.”

Harry sighs again, for entirely different reason now. “I’m fine, Draco, don’t worry about it.”

“Hmph.”

They wait in silence for another five minutes, looking up when Blaise reappears. “Vince, you next,” he says, sticking his thumb over his shoulder where the door remains ajar.

Vince goes without issue and Blaise joins Harry against the wall. Draco immediately begins his interrogation.

“What did he talk about?”

“What the girls said,” Blaise shrugs. “Asked how I was settling in, if anything was wrong, and what my personal and academic goals for the term are. He also briefly went over my medical results, but there was nothing to talk about, so we breezed past that.”

Harry’s stomach tanks. No, wait, no, calm down, he can’t know. What Pomfrey knows, Snape will know. He’ll see the report, which obviously says all is well, so he can’t…Yes, it’ll be okay, he can’t know, he doesn’t know…

A knock to the shoulder brings him out of his reverie. “Where has that bizarre mind of yours wandered off to, Chosen One?”

“Probably thinking about all the food he ate at dinner,” Draco can’t help but barrack.

“Hey,” Harry complains.

Blaise huffs in disbelief, looking between the two of them. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve seen owls eat more than you do, Harry.”

Harry scowls at them. “See, now you two watching me eat? _That’s_ a bit creepy. Someone’s gonna think you fancy me.” His last sentence oozes sarcasm as he throws their teasing words from their first Charms class back at them.

“So, what if they do?” Blaise leers, eyebrows jumping up and down suggestively.

“Shove off,” Harry scoffs, accompanying his words with a light shove to Blaise’s shoulder. He rolls with it, grinning at Harry unapologetically.

A handle turns and the office door creeks open, Vince trading places with Draco.

“Yours go alright?” Blaise inquires.

“Yeah,” Vince nods. “Yours?”

“Peachy keen.”

“Hm. What do you think we’ll do this weekend?”

“I dunno,” Blaise says, sounding thoughtful. “We’ve already explored plenty, checked that and finding a secret passageway off our bucket list.” He counts the feats on his fingers. “Maybe go back down to the lake? I have decided I’m going to make the giant squid love me, one way or another.”

Vince makes an agreeing sound. “Sounds fun.”

Blaise tucks his hands back under his armpits, shoulder still pressed to the wall close to Harry’s own. “What about you, Harry? Are we going to have to bring you and Tracey meals in the library?”

Harry perks up at the realization that he finally has hours of free time to spend in the number one place he’s been hoping to get lost in.

Hang on, no, that’s not right, is it? He’d made a promise.

Rhia. The Chamber. He agreed to visit her; her threat to devour the school in search of him a mild side-bonus to his intentions to see her in her physical glory.

“That would be nice,” he settles on saying, hiding exactly where his thoughts have turned. His friends can’t know, no one can ever know; his life and Rhia’s may very well depend on it.

If everyone knew about the Chamber, if they knew about _Tom_ and what a freak Harry is to take comfort in his House’s mascot…

No. Some things are best kept secret and being a parselmouth is definitely a secret he needs to be better at keeping.

“Harry, your turn.”

He pushes off the wall, surprised to find Draco is already done.

“We’ll wait here,” Blaise tells him. Harry immediately thinks that it’s an unnecessary comment, because _of course_ they’re going to wait for him, before he internally falters, realizing that,

Oh.

Duh.

 _Of course they’re going to wait for him_. He bites his inner cheek, keeping a smile from forming when it sinks in that he actually has friends; friends that he trusts won’t abandon him, won’t leave him alone. They’ll wait for him; they’ll make sure he’s okay.

It’s enough to make his chest ache.

“Close the door, Potter.”

Right. He’s about to face the Devil. He needs to focus.

Except, no, he admonishes himself, that’s not a fair comparison. Walking to the chair Professor Snape gestures to, he reflects that the man’s office certainly doesn’t personify that of an evil person. If anything, it’s cozy. Two stuffed bookshelves hug the wall on either side of a river-stone mantle, a fire happily crackling away in the logs below. Shelves with miscellaneous objects and containers stick to the wall next to the door. The professor’s desk, a hefty, practical thing, sits opposite the fireplace. The wall across from the entry holds a cabinet and a closed door.

Perching on the unforgiving wood of his seat, Harry waits with ramrod-straight posture for Professor Snape to finish glancing through the file before him. Despite Professor Snape’s impeccable posture, Harry has the feeling that the man carries an insurmountable weight on his shoulders. It’s in the stress lines around his eyes and slight downturn at the corners of his mouth.

Harry wonders what he sees in the mirror.

“I have miraculously heard no complaints about you thus far, Potter,” is the professor’s opening statement.

That’s…nice? Yes, it’s good, that’s good, he hasn’t done anything—

“Until today.”

Bugger.

“Sir?”

Professor Snape finally looks up, setting the papers down and intertwining his fingers on top. “You are able to recall the ingredients for a N.E.W.T. level potion, Potter, yet you are incapable of remembering the incident that occurred not three hours ago?”

 _Bugger_ , Hooch definitely told. Or Professor Snape overheard gossip that undoubtedly spread from the incident. Either way, not good.

What can he say to that weirdly backhanded compliment? “Our flying class, sir?”

“Obviously.”

“A classmate was in danger, Professor.”

The sides of Professor Snape’s nose curl like he’s about to snarl. “So you rushed into action like brash little Gryffindor.”

“No, sir,” Harry says, sensing the importance of the moment. “I assessed the situation, weighed the risks, and responded as I thought best. Like a Slytherin.”

“Did you now?” How can such a monotone tone sound so disbelieving? “I find it hard to believe that you are capable of such thorough observation skills.”

He can’t let the man see how cutting his words are, he won’t. He’s heard far worse from the Dursleys, he can handle a bit of sarcasm.

“Madam Hooch didn’t have her wand out, sir,” he starts. “Nobody did. She was just calling his name, not actively trying to do anything. The other students, myself included for a moment, were all gaping like fish. Neville was gaining altitude, and nobody was reacting. I didn’t trust myself to safely use _Wingardium Leviosa_ on him, and I wasn’t sure it would even work. I have previous experience with flying and decided it was my best bet. And it worked.”

He says the last words perhaps a bit too testily and quickly regains control of himself. He can’t act petulant; he won’t be taken seriously.

“Indeed." It’s both a question and a statement, accompanied by a searing gaze that feels like it’s trying to pull Harry’s secrets right from his soul.

“Madam Hooch took fifteen points for endangering myself, Professor,” he adds, hoping that will deter from any further punishment.

“As she should have. Such audacious behavior is not tolerated in Slytherin, Potter, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He’ll just let his godbrother fall to his death next time. No problem.

“We shall see. Now, as I have better things to do with my time, let us discuss your goals for this term.” He selects one of the papers before him and grabs a quill. “Are there specific grades you hope to achieve in your individual classes?”

“You mean for final grades, sir?” At the professor's impatient nod, he considers it for a moment. He’s prepared himself as best he can and is already proficient in casting magic expected from his age. Yes, he could do well, he could easily pass his classes. Yet, no, he doesn’t want to be _just_ acceptable or be exceeding expectations does he? No, he wants to be _outstanding_. To show everyone that he’s not _usele_ — “I am going to get Outstandings in all my classes, Professor.”

Professor Snape makes a sound in the back of his throat, quill halting above the parchment as he pins his eyes on Harry. “While I expect all my Slytherins to achieve such standards, I highly doubt you are capable of doing so, Potter.”

Harry’s temper flares, the heat tinged with sadness. He raises his chin. “Did I not do well with my Cure for Boils potion, sir?”

“You did,” Professor Snape concedes after a moment, sounding like it’s physically painful for him to admit.

Harry nods. “I read and studied a lot during the summer, Professor. I’ve already gone through everything we’ll learn in our classes and read through other books recommended to me. Everything makes sense and I can already cast most of what we’ll be learning in Charms and Defense.”

“Can you?” Again, with the doubt. “I will believe it when I see it.”

There are many things he would like to say in reply, but he swallows them back and settles on, “yes, sir.”

“Very well,” Professor Snape acquiesces, scribing a slanted ‘O’ in the spot next to each subject on the page. “I have heard from your fellow year mates that you all are completing homework together and in a timely manner. Do continue to do so.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you intend to join any clubs or extracurricular activities?”

A flicker of amusement tickles his chest at the innane inquiry. “I’m not sure, sir. I’ve only heard about the Art and Flying clubs. I like flying, but I’d rather spend my time reading.”

The uncomfortable, assessing gaze is back. Harry thinks the man is going to make another scathing comment, maybe question his ability to read. That’s not what happens.

Instead, the professor merely nods and writes some more. “A list of clubs is on the notice board in the Common Room. You may also wish to speak to your year mates in case you are interested in similar clubs. It is best not to go alone.”

Harry hides his stupefaction at the surprisingly neutral deliverance of the helpful advice. “Yes, sir.”

Professor Snape’s hand toys with the edge of another parchment, and Harry’s stomach sinks at the sight, for he recognizes it to be the same one that Madam Pomfrey held.

“Tell me something, Potter,” the professor articulates after a moment spent in silence. “Your medical exam shows you are in acceptable health. And yet, I find myself noticing that you are the listed as having the same weight as one of your House mates who is nearly eight centimeters taller than you. Care to explain?”

Harry finds his throat suspiciously dry, joints stiff as he strains to keep his body from giving him away. “I’m…fat.”

Something flickers across the man’s face. “Fat.”

“...yes, sir.”

Those obsidian eyes narrow dangerously, making Harry's fingers clench the fabric around his knees. “I suppose you are moronic as well, seeing as you declined your inoculations.”

“Yes. Sir.”

“Potter, do you take me for a fool?”

Harry’s head jerks, because he can already tell that Professor Snape is many things, but a fool is not one of them. “No, sir!”

“Then you expect me to believe your half-witted excuses? You are without a doubt the smallest First Year I have ever seen enter these halls, Potter.”

Harry doesn’t bother smothering his scowl. For Merlin’s sake, _he’s not THAT SMALL!_ He tries a different route, hoping to distract the professor. “I’m not a big eater, sir.”

“I noticed. Your meals are appallingly inadequate.”

Harry opens his mouth then closes it, not knowing what he can say.

“Are the meals not up to the standards for Prince Potter?”

It's Bletchley all over again. Harry wants to be furious and scream that the professor doesn’t know what the _bloody hell_ he’s talking about, except it hits him that the man has given him the fool-proof excuse all gift wrapped and tied with a bow.

Cheesed off with himself, he hides a scowl; he really needs to up his game if he’s to prevent becoming indebted to the wankers making his life torturous.

Ducking his head away, Harry puts on an embarrassed and annoyed mask, hoping that the angry flush already blossoming on his cheeks is the cherry on top to convince the man of his faked, guilty conscience.

“As I thought,” Professor Snape growls, revitalized disgust clear in his eyes. It’s painful to see, but necessary. “You will be grateful for what you get, Potter, and cease your attempts at being a martyr. Salazar knows how you were sorted into my House, but I nevertheless refuse to allow you to be a distraction to your fellow Housemates. You will eat proper meals and the Nutrition Potion I will so generously bestow upon you each morning.”

Harry’s head snaps back at the last words, having zoned out the all-too-familiar ridicule the professor was spitting at the start. “Nutrition Potion, sir?”

“Yes, Potter, it will assist with—”

“I know what it does—”

“Do not interrupt!”

Harry wilts under the man’s fury, arms instinctively rising to his chest as he leans back. He stares at the ground. “Sorry, sir.”

After a moment of boiling silence, a heavy sigh escapes the professor.

“Get out of my sight, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.” He’s out of the seat in a flash, pulling the door open. He has one foot in the corridor before he leans back and says, “have a good evening, sir.”

He closes the door on Professor Snape’s inscrutable expression and gives his friends a sheepish smile when Blaise gives him a ‘finally!’ look.

“About time, mate. Thought Professor Snape had decided to dissect you and add your body parts to his collection.”

Harry’s face scrunches, Draco and Vince making disgusted sounds. “Gross, Blaise, I didn’t need that picture in my head.”

“But you got it anyway!” Blaise beams. “Come along, let’s go join everyone else; I assured Terrence I’d get revenge for the other night’s game.”

On the walk to the Common Room, Harry thinks over the meeting and decides that the one-on-one with his godfather and that, while it hadn't been great, it also wasn’t terrible.

Just disappointing.

***

At half past five the next morning, Harry is on a mission.

He’d greeted then gave excuses to Master Ó’Briain, **_consumerofnight_** and **_scalesofwild_** , before making his way up to the second floor, hand caressing the leather cover of the book weighing down his robe pocket.

At his feet, a furry companion stays by his side all the way to the door of Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory. A quick look around confirms they’re alone in the corridor, and a push of his magic unlocks then opens the heavy door.

Daisy goes in before him, nose already trailing over the ground as she chases smells Harry has no interest in investigating for himself. Knowing what he’s looking for, Harry eyes the snake engraved in the faucet of the sink closest to the toilet stalls. Fingers reverently rubbing grime off the varnished metal, Harry lets the password rattle in his throat and sneak past his tongue.

 ** _Open_**.

With a subdued rumble, the sink next to him begins to disappear into the floor. He steps back, watching as one after another, the other sinks in the collective, columned installation lower below, their sectioned parts of the stone top contributing to the steps that he can see spiral down into the darkness.

A tail flicking against his calf is followed by an inquisitive _mrow?_.

“Stay close, Daiz.”

He’s worried about her tagging along for the ride, but she’d been insistent at leaving the Common Room with him. He has to trust that her instincts and his magic will keep her safe.

He’s also secretly relieved he’s not alone.

The base of the stairs opens into a room about the size of the Potions classroom, except the ceiling is twice as high and there’s a massive, roping mound of _something_.

Stepping closer with cautious steps, Harry runs a hand over the opaque material, noting the familiar shapes made by darker, intersecting lines.

“Skin?” He ponders aloud before a dry, cracking sound startles him. He spins on his heel, finding Daisy pawing at a chunk of the discarded snakeskin, her paw breaking through the material. He exhales away his worry, looking around once more, this time really absorbing the sheer size of the snake that had shed such an impressive amount of skin.

“This way,” he whispers to Daisy, navigating a path around the coils of skin. She bounds and skitters around him, far too jovial for their surreal surroundings. They make it to the other side of the room where he’s faced with a circular, metal door that’s tall enough to walk through and decorated with curling snakes that protrude from the surface.

**Open?**

With metallic _SCHICK!_ s, the snakes slither back into the wall one by one as another erupts from their base and winds itself along the outline of the door. The moment its tail disappears where the others have vanished to, the door hinges open, a draft carrying the smell of fetid water and damp stone.

Illuminated torches recovering from the abrupt draft dot the walls, providing more light than he would think possible from their modest size. He stares around in wonder at the considerable statues of fang-baring snake heads lining the walls all the way to the opposite end of the immense chamber where a gargantuan statue of a familiar man resides over his sanctuary. At the man’s feet and on either side of the wide walkway cutting through the middle of the room are pools of inky, unmoving water.

“Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets, Daisy,” he says, grinning breathlessly when she gives him a chirp then slinks off to the side where Harry finally notices are two gaping tunnels on his left and right. Halfway down its length, the walkway splits off where two more tunnel openings face the middle of the chamber. “Don’t go too far,” he warns her, hoping she knows better than to get into trouble.

He gets an annoyed chirp in return and is satisfied enough to leave her to her exploration.

Walking to the center of the chamber where the walkway branches, he spots yet another two tunnel entrances in the corners of the wall hosting Salazar’s statue.

Touched by the cold or his nerves, he suddenly shivers, straining his ears to hear any sign of the mighty beast he knows is somewhere nearby.

 **Hello?** He calls out, cringing when his voice bounces off the concave walls. The silence shouts back at him.

 **Rhiannon?** He tries again, nerves creeping up his back.

The ripples in the water in the pools are the first sign.

It starts slowly, the sound of something rough trailing over stone, eerily reminiscent of his body when Vernon would drag him across the carpet.

His heart shudders under his ribs. **Rhia?** He manages to croak, barely louder than a whisper.

A low hiss shakes the air and Harry faces the tunnel on the right, thinking the sound is coming from there, except then it changes pitch and he takes a step back from the left, hearing it breach the tunnel there. The hissing gets louder, Harry’s breath increasing in tandem. He shouldn’t be afraid, he knows what he’s up against, he knows Rhia.

An unwelcome thought chokes him. He doesn't know Rhia. _N_ _o,_ he’s met a mere painting. He’s never met—

 ** _Hatchling_** , a voice croons from behind him.

Harry whips around, wand in hand, other hand raised before him, prepared to defend himself, however futile the action may be. Not seeing Daisy anywhere, Harry squints through the gloom of the tenebrific tunnel, eyes cracked the barest millimeter. There’s only darkness.

He licks his lips, numb tongue making his speech tremble. **…Rhia?**

The voice that washes over him is familiar and yet entirely alien. The hitching, rattling hissing nearly makes Harry gape in wonder. For a moment, he does, grip on his wand slipping when from the darkness, a _herculean_ shadow emerges. He keeps his gaze lowered, watching as meter by mighty meter, the laughing basilisk comes into the light, towering over Harry.

He stumbles backwards, keeping his eyes away from the head he knows is swaying far above him, likely teasing the ceiling of the chamber. He watches as muscles tense and contract in an elegant dance that brings the serpent’s body closer and closer to his pathetic, diminutive figure. Cursing himself for endangering yet another animal charge in his care, he hopes with all his magic that Daisy stays hidden.

The laughter trails off, the noise hanging in the air around them, nearly making Harry deaf to the basilisk’s next words.

 **My, my…** the great snake speaks. **How my master’s bloodline has dwindled for such a tiny hatchling to be deemed a worthy heir. Still wet behind your scales…**

She moves once more, body dragging on the stones around Harry, _closing him in_ until he feels how claustrophobic the air has become in his pocket of space within coils taller than his person. He does his best to stay calm. His offence at her words certainly helps fight his panic.

 **I’m only eleven,** he argues, completely done with the insult at this point. **I’ll get bigger.**

She hums, assaulting Harry’s senses with ripe breath that reeks of copper and things Harry doesn’t want to think about. His nose scrunches before he can resist the action. He senses Rhiannon’s head draw nearer and promptly smashes his eyelids closed, face aching with the effort.

Warm, frowsty air flows over him, curling around his robes. **My gaze cannot harm a speaker, silly hatchling,** she snorts after a moment of watching him. **You should know this.**

Harry does remember that. He also doesn’t necessarily trust it.

 **Prove it** , he hisses back.

 **Master said you had the spirit of a viper,** her voice, high above him once more, sounds inordinately pleased. **If you do not trust me, then perhaps I can demonstrate on the feline that is wandering around my chamber…**

 **NO!** Harry yells, eyes shooting open at the same time his magic rears, ready to take on Rhia, to shield Daisy, anything it takes to keep her safe—

Laughter, louder this time, scrapes against the chamber stones. Heart doing its best to escape alongside his magic, Harry scowls in the direction of the laughter. Did... did he just get tricked by a thousand-year-old basilisk?

 **Oh hatchling…** Rhia hisses, coils lowering at an indulgent pace. **You do provide good entertainment.**

Preparing himself for the idiocy he’s about to do, Harry finally looks up.

_Sweet Merlin._

**Hello, hatchling,** Rhia boffs. **Your eyes are the color of death.**

**Your eyes are...orange.**

They’re orange, glowing from within, and _huge_! Her eyes must be bigger than his potions cauldron!

Hesitantly, he raises a hand, palm meeting the tough, dark green and brown scales of her snout when she leans forward to meet him. His hand is smaller than any one of her scales; they feel dry and cool under his sweaty palm. A shaky exhale escapes him, met by a gustier one from the slanted nostrils that reside a meter above rounded scales that mark the top of her mouth. Weary of the fangs and poison contained within, he glances up once more, choosing to focus on Rhia’s right eye as her skull is too massive for him to be able to look in both at once. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that while her eyes glow, they are slightly clouded by something.

**Is there something over your eyes?**

Nodding, Rhia withdraws, moving her head far enough away from him that there’s no risk of saliva getting on his person. **As a speaker, you could look upon my gaze with no harm, hatchling, but for the sake of your feline, I covered my gaze.**

 **I didn’t now basilisks could do that** , Harry comments, neck aching from tilting his head back to make eye contact. **That isn’t written in the books I’ve read.**

 **No human has looked long enough to live** , Rhia laughs, tail thumping somewhere behind him, making the ground tremble. **And Master would not spill my secrets.**

That reminds Harry. **Is Salazar nearby? He said he had a portrait here.**

 **He is.** Her coils shift and the air cools around him as she retreats. **Come, hatchling. I will show you to Master. He is eager to see you.**

Harry takes a step then stops, looking around, even jumping to try and see over Rhia’s moving body. **Can Daisy come?**

Rhia doesn’t look back, but her sigh is long-suffering. **If she must.**

Huh. Apparently being annoyed with cats is an all-around serpent thing.

Calling for his companion and hearing a quiet mrow in return, Harry hurries over to the tunnel where Daisy disappeared, giddy at the thought of exploring more of the Chamber of Secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! How'd y'all like it?
> 
> Do you think Harry reacted appropriately to the news that Dumbledore is manipulating things? 
> 
> I promise, I really promise, Forest will be back soon. Friends fight and this was not some small agreement. It's been months for us (because I'm crap at uploading), but a couple weeks for them. When they reunite, it's gonna be big. Fingers crossed, it will be well worth the wait.  
> Also, yes, everything Harry has suffered will come to light. Eventually.  
> Thank you so much for your patience and lovely comments until then!
> 
> Insanity in America aside, I hope you are all having a positive start to the year! Stay safe and sane!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
